Past Present
by illman
Summary: When a married middle class man disappears, Samantha recognizes him as her exhusband from 10 years ago. Everything leads back to victim’s first marriage. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_Title: Past Present_

_Author: Illman_

_Category: Martin/Samantha, Jack/Samantha, casefile_

_Beta: The wonderful DianeM offered to beta this story. Thanks._

_Date: 02/19/2006_

_Warnings: violence_

_Disclaimer: It's their universe, not mine._

_Spoilers: Seasons 1 and 2 are all game_

_Summary: When a married middle class man disappears, Samantha recognizes him as her ex-husband from 10 years ago. All clues start to lead back to the time of the victim's first marriage._

_Author's Notes: Set in the 2nd season. Now beta-ed. All remaining mistakes are my own._

_oOo_

Samantha Spade was drawing lines on the table with her finger and only interrupted her activity by looking out the window of the bar once in a while. She was waiting for a date to arrive. Martin and she had been planning to meet in Marty's Bar almost twenty minutes ago, but so far, there was no sign of Martin and she was getting restless. She had not really been in the mood to go out that day, but when Martin had asked her at work today, she had said yes. She wasn't sure why herself. She liked Martin; he was a nice guy, friendly, well-mannered. They had gone out before several times, and it had been pleasant, even entertaining, each time. There had been no real reason to decline his invitation this time. Maybe her mood would pick up as the evening went on; otherwise Martin would probably wish he hadn't asked her out--that was if he ever showed up. Part of her started to get worried. She looked out the window again. A stream of people was hurrying by in the night, but she couldn't spot Martin among them. She sighed somewhat frustrated and ordered something to drink. She had almost finished her glass by the time Martin arrived. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed his arrival. Suddenly, he stood right in front of her.

"I'm really sorry I'm late. I got held up at work."

"You stayed there that late? We finished the case already this morning." Samantha was puzzled because even with paperwork, Martin couldn't have taken that long.

"Something from an old case needed to be taken care of," Martin replied stiffly, and she could tell that he was lying. "Nice table," he commented on their table with a view of the street, effectively changing the subject.

"Wasn't that hard to get. Most people probably prefer sitting away from the window, not that there is much to see at that time of the day. I hope you don't mind that I already ordered myself something to drink." She apologized, realizing that it might be considered bad manners. Somehow around Martin, she always had the feeling that she had to be careful.

"No, it's okay. I was really too late. You needn't have stuck around that long."

They went on to order more drinks, followed by dinner. Martin seemed distracted and preoccupied by something. He didn't pay attention to what she was saying, forgot what he had ordered and generally seemed to be somewhere else. Samantha considered asking him about it, but he would probably deny it, knowing him. But there was a chance that he wouldn't and truth was that Samantha didn't feel like going into anyone's personal problems tonight. Whether that made her a bad person or not, she had had a long day, a headache was building up, her lamb tasted like chicken, and most of all, she was only human. She put down her fork and took another sip of wine. Maybe she shouldn't drink that much or this might turn into an evening she might regret. She had already had some wine before Martin had arrived. Oh well. She took another sip and looked at Martin, who was staring out the window, letting his food grow cold. He was definitely having issues; normally food was the one temptation Martin couldn't resist.

oOo

Jack Malone's evening had been slightly more enjoyable so far. He had spent it at the opera--with his wife nonetheless. But since going to the opera was all about listening and not about talking to each other, it had been the most peaceful evening they had spent together in a long time. It was their tenth anniversary. Going to the opera might not be most people's idea of spending their anniversary, but it was something they both immensely enjoyed and one of the few things they still had in common after difficult years together. Now, he only had dinner left to navigate, Jack thought to himself and immediately chided himself for thinking about his anniversary like that. It should be a joy spending time with his wife; instead he saw potential points of conflict lurking everywhere. This was not how he had pictured it. Not in his dreams, not even in his nightmares. He never thought that he would be someone afraid of fighting. Outside his marriage he didn't avoid conflict. His job often put him in difficult positions, but at home, he simply had enough of it. Maria and he walked in silence down the street. Walking by a downtown restaurant, he gazed through the window and spotted two familiar faces. Samantha Spade and Martin Fitzgerald were apparently on a date together. This surprised him. He would have thought he'd known. He didn't pry into the personal lives of his agents, but still, the team worked closely together, and he never noticed that they were dating. What did that say about how observant he was? Did Vivian know? Probably, she knew just about everything. She had immediately known about him and Samantha. But maybe they had been less careful. Why was this bothering him so much? He was married, Samantha wasn't. She could date whomever she wanted and he was on the way to his anniversary dinner. Jack shook the thoughts from his mind.

oOo

Life wasn't easy for her, the kids, and the problems at her job, him not being home much. But that was about to change. Clyde smiled, bended down and softly kissed Linda on the cheek before getting up. Careful not to make much noise, he made his way into his small study. There wasn't much in the small room except for a chair, a table and a laptop. Clyde logged onto the Internet and checked his email account: two new messages. As expected. Everything was going as planned. He read them, memorized them, and then deleted them. He waited for it to turn 10 p.m., then he logged onto AIM.

Half an hour, Clyde Buckner, a bag in one hand, his laptop in the other, left the house.

oOo

Maria and Jack sat over dinner. It was amazing with how few words they had managed to get through the evening so far. When Maria suddenly put down her eating utensils and looked at him, Jack immediately had an ill feeling that she was about that say something that wasn't going to go anywhere pleasant .

"Jack, we need to talk about something." Maria's tone was serious. Jack wondered why she had chosen this evening. Normally an anniversary dinner was not the occasion for serious talk. But in their relationship, so much avoidance took place lately that maybe she had figured it was the best chance she was going to get.

"Okay, what is it."

"I know this might not be a good time, but we both know, that this isn't a romantic evening. We both enjoyed the opera, but the rest is just show." Maria put bluntly what Jack had been thinking. He didn't quite know what to respond. Normally, they didn't talk quite that honestly and he didn't really think that such a public place was the right venue.

"Do you really think that we should talk here? Maybe we should discuss whatever you want to talk about at home?" Jack asked cautiously.

"It doesn't really matter. What needs to be said needs to be said." Maria sounded cold. "Jack, I've been having an affair."

It was like a slap in the face. Unexpected. And it hurt. More than it deserved to hurt. After all, he had betrayed her as well, so technically he just got what he deserved. Still, it hurt. He didn't know what to say or think. He looked at Maria. She looked sad and scared. He couldn't imagine what she felt. It was as if a stranger was sitting opposite of him. He didn't know that woman at all. He was supposed to say something, but he couldn't.

"I need some time to think about that," he finally managed. He got up, grabbed his coat and left. A few people looked, but he didn't care. Back on the street, when the wet, cold air hit him, he realized that just walking out had been stupid and childish; he had run away from the confrontation with Maria. But he didn't know how to deal with that woman. She wasn't the woman he had married. But he probably wasn't the man she had married either. He hadn't even asked with whom she had had the affair, Was it still going on? He leaned against the wall of a building, catching his breath, as he had been walking briskly, almost running.

oOo

On the fourth try Samantha managed to insert the key into the lock. Her fingers were freezing and she had had too much to drink. Not a good combination. Martin, who was standing in the hallway with her wasn't any help either. He had caught up with her, drinking pretty quickly as the evening had worn on. Drink orders had made up for the lack of talking. Somehow they had ended up walking home together to Samantha's place. Samantha vaguely recalled a bottle of champagne in her fridge. She had kept it there for a date that hadn't gone as planned. Now she could put it to good use. Somehow, with lots of giggling, both made it into the apartment and out of their coats.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jack woke up before his alarm clock. He felt like it was expected after an evening like the last. After he had left the restaurant, he had gone to a bar and gotten drunk. He had known it was a stupid idea back then, and he certainly knew it now. Careful not to aggravate his headache, he eased himself into a sitting position. He glanced around, glad that it was not fully day yet. His head wouldn't take kindly to any bright lights. Only now he noticed that the spot on the bed next to him was empty. When he had gotten home, Maria had already been asleep. He glanced at his watch--6.15 a.m. Maria normally didn't get up that early. He leaned against the headboard, fighting a wave of nausea. He had really overdone it the previous night. Slowly the details came fully back to him and, with them, the sting of Maria's revelation. A night's sleep had taken away the brunt of the shock, but it had done little to dull the pain. And he also felt betrayed, which was highly ironic, if he thought about it. He had always rationalized his affair with the justification that things weren't working between him and Maria anyways. But now that he had made the decision to come back to her and to try to make it work, he learned that she too had been having an affair, which made him feel like his efforts had been in vain. They probably would have been anyways. He felt like he had been deluding himself from that start that he could just go back and make his marriage work again. Suddenly he felt hung-over and stupid.

oOo

Jack wasn't the only one who felt hung-over and stupid. Samantha had gone from feeling confused to feeling hung-over and stupid within ten minutes. She had been woken by something soft making contact with her skin. It wasn't a pillow. It was something warm and human. She could feel a hand on her arm. She opened her eyes and saw Martin's smiling face over her.

"Good morning!" Martin greeted her smiling.

"Morning," she mumbled, somewhat confused trying to figure out how Martin fit into the picture. She sat up and immediately regretted it. Her head was spinning and for a moment she saw spots. Carefully, she leaned back into the headboard.

"Are you all right?" Martin asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just sat up too quickly," she lied, trying not to show that she wasn't exactly sure about what had happened the previous night. Her gaze fell on the champagne bottle standing on the nightstand. Right, she recalled getting it out of the fridge and carrying it over into the bedroom. Their clothes were strewn on the floor of the bedroom and out into the hallway. Samantha vaguely recalled stripping off Martin's shirt in the kitchen. Slowly, like the pieces of a mosaic, the evening came back together again. It had definitely not gone how she had planned. Ending up in bed with Martin Fitzgerald had not been on her list of things to do. It hadn't been bad, though. She glanced at her watch. They needed to get going; otherwise, they would have to do some explaining at the office today.

"Martin." She looked over to him, but he had that distracted expression on his face again. Martin!" she tried again. This time he reacted.

"I'm sorry. I got lost in thought for a moment."

"We need to get going." Samantha stated the obvious, trying to disguise that she felt a bit uncomfortable with the situation. She got up, grabbed something to wear from the closet and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. A shower and two aspirins later, she felt more like herself again. The past evening didn't seem quite as bizarre now. She had spent the night with Martin. She could get used to the thought. Yes, she could, she told her mirror image. She nodded to herself and walked back into the kitchen, intrigued by the smell of coffee.

"Hope you don't mind that I made some coffee?" Martin asked and handed her a cup.

"Thanks, you didn't have to do that. But I'm afraid that I don't have very much in my fridge," she apologized.

"It's okay, I have to go by my apartment anyways, I have to change before work." Martin indicated his rumpled suit. "See you at the office." He kissed her good-bye.

Samantha was left standing in her apartment, slightly puzzled, her feelings still lagging a bit behind.

oOo

Linda Buckner couldn't get back to sleep. Clyde's boss had called because her husband hadn't shown up for work that night. She had called all their friends, but none of them had seen him. Now it was morning and he still wasn't back. The car was gone and so was Clyde. An hour ago she had called the police and they had told her that they would send someone. Since then she had been sitting on the couch, trying to watch TV. She had put it on mute; there was no way she could concentrate on a program right now. The kids didn't know what was up. She would tell them if she had to. For the moment she could still hope that it didn't come to it. The ringing of the door sent a jolt through her. Clyde? But he would have a key. The disheartening thought followed. It was probably the police. She went to the door and checked the spy hole. A man and a woman were standing outside. She opened the door.

"Hello?"

"We are Agents Johnson and Taylor with the FBI. We are here about your husband's disappearance." They showed their badges.

"Sure, come in," she invited them, somewhat confused that the FBI was on the case.

She led the agents into the living room.

"I'm not really sure what I can tell you. I have no idea where my husband could be."

"We are trying to find out more about your husband. Now, we got the report you made to the police. How did Clyde seem last night?"

"Like always. We had dinner, and then he went to work in his study. He said he had some work to catch up on. They were testing a new software at work this week; that's why he was coming in nights."

"How were things going for him at work? Was he having any problems there that you know of?" Vivian asked.

"No, but he didn't really talk much about his work. He only started working for Inovatech two months ago. We were so happy that he finally found a new job."

"You husband was unemployed before?"

"Yes, for almost a year. He had his own business before, but his partner walked out on him and he lost everything."

Vivian and Danny shared a look. This was something worth looking into further.

"What was the name of his company?"

"RinSo-Lan." Linda spelled the name for the agents. "Clyde founded it in 1995." But what does all this have to do with finding him?"

"We are just trying to learn as much as possible about him," Vivian assured her. "Now, we have to ask you this, but how were things going in your marriage?"

"They were going fine," Linda replied very quickly. "I met Clyde at a very difficult time and he was just wonderful. He is a great husband and father. See, when I met Clyde, I was broke, had a little daughter and nowhere to go. He took care of us."

"Who is the father of your daughter?"

"Lyle Simmons is Carla's father, but I haven't seen him in years. He has never even met Carla. Christine is Clyde's."

"That's all for the moment. Now we'd like to look at your husband's study. Maybe it can tell us something about where he went last night."

"Sure, I'll show you." Linda got up and showed them the way. As soon as she had opened the door to the small room, she knew that something was wrong.

"This is strange," she said, her voice slightly shaky.

"What's wrong?"

"They are all gone. His disk, his folders."

"His laptop as well?" Danny noticed wires but no computer.

"He usually takes it to work with him. But not his files. It could be because of the new software..."

Danny walked around and examined the room. The window was shut securely and there was no sign of forced entry. The room bore no evidence of disturbance. It didn't look like someone had packed up in a hurry. Whoever had done this had had time and had known what they were looking for. Still, they would need to have CSU take a look at the room just to make sure.

"Mrs. Buckner, we'll need to have crime scene technicians examine this room."

"Sure, whatever you need to do." Linda was shocked.

Vivian got out her cell phone and notified CSU that they were needed. Ten minutes later they were on their way back to the car.

"So what do you think?" she questioned Danny.

"Looks pretty voluntary. And either Linda is clueless or lying. At any rate, Clyde isn't the perfect husband she makes him out to be."

"They never are. Everyone's got dirty laundry."

"That's why I plan on never going missing. Do you think any of our esteemed colleagues will be at the office by now?" Danny referred to the fact that this morning, he and Vivian had found themselves alone at the office. They had called Jack, who had mumbled something about them going ahead. He had sounded positively hung over. Neither of them was looking forward to their boss' ill mood. At least they had a fresh case to work on, Danny thought to himself. He could use the distraction as well.

oOo

Jack got to the office, finding it fairly empty. It was buzzing with activity as always, but his team was absent. He knew that Danny and Vivian were out talking to the wife of their latest missing person, but he didn't recall them telling him anything about Martin or Samantha. Immediately an inappropriate question mark formed in his mind. He pushed it aside and turned to the police report. Clyde Buckner, thirty-two years old, last seen by his wife, Linda Buckner. He didn't show up for work. His car was missing as well. Not much to go on. Hopefully Danny and Vivian learned something more. In the meantime, he decided to go on to do the routine checks: financials, hospitals, morgues, credits cards.

This morning his heart wasn't in it. Work, the drug that usually cured all ills, didn't work that morning. His thoughts were flying in a million directions: back to the previous evening, back to Maria's affair, back to seeing Samantha and Martin, which was none of his business. Maria's affair should concern him more. How much was that his business? As much as his affair with Samantha was Maria's business came the answer. His affair was in the past. Was Maria's? He hadn't talked to her this morning. They had spent breakfast in silence. He had told himself it was because of his hang-over. That was only part of the reason. He sighed. In spite of the aspirin, his head still hurt.

There was a knock on the door, and Jack answered. It was Samantha. She looked like she had had a bad night.

"Jack, do you have a moment."

"Sure," he said, not so sure he was going to like what was coming next. Somehow, this did not have the markings of an entirely professional conversation. Her body language told him otherwise, and in the past twenty-four hours, his experience with women and personal revelations hadn't been that good.

"About our new case, Clyde Buckner. He is my ex-husband," Samantha said calmly.

Jack didn't quite know what to say. He had known in the back of his mind, that Samantha had been married years ago, but he had never really given it much thought.

"Do you think you can work the case?"

"Yes, we were only married for six months, and that was ten years ago. Still, I thought you should know," she said lightly, clearly relieved.

"Thanks."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, it was a late night," he answered evasively.

"Martin and I are going to head over to Inovatech where Clyde was working last. Do you have anything yet?"

"Nothing on the credit cards. Still working on the financial history. But I found something about his wife, Linda. She did prison time in the early 1990s for assault and drug-related charges."

"I think I know her. I met her once or twice after she got out, and she had a little girl," Samantha recalled.

"Were they involved back then?" Jack asked, only then realizing the delicate nature of his question. "I'm sorry."

"I don't know. And it's okay. I was eighteen. Our marriage was a disaster; it fell apart after two months. I wouldn't be surprised if he was involved with her," Samantha shrugged. She had put the marriage chapter far behind her and hadn't ever planned on getting it out again. She didn't know how she felt about having it all dragged out again. Right now, there was nothing.

Jack looked at her, trying to read her, trying to find the wordless understanding that they used to have. But he couldn't find it. There was too much that they weren't telling each other. Samantha could tell that he was having trouble at home; the same as he could sense that she had something weighing on her mind, whether it had to do with Martin or with the fact that she would have to deal with her failed marriage from ten years ago.

oOo

"He was this close to getting fired. Yesterday I told him to straighten up or not bother to show his face here again. I hired him in good faith, but he's been a disappointment, He is late, takes longer breaks than anyone, he complains about overtime and doesn't do a better job than anyone else, but certainly had the attitude." Gerald Hamilton, boss of Inovatech, finished his tirade. Clyde Buckner had not been his favourite employee.

"How did he get along with his co-workers?" Samantha asked

"Reasonably well. Most had no complaints about him. There was one thing. Yesterday after shift, a woman from Clyde's team came to me and told me he had been harassing her. She is planning to press charges. I wanted to talk to Clyde today. I even called him yesterday. If I were him, I would think twice about ever showing my face here again too. He is practically fired." Samantha listened silently. This was not entirely unexpected. Still, she had known Clyde as a twenty-year old, but apparently he hadn't changed very much. It made her wonder what else had not changed since then. She left it to Martin to lead the conversation from there on. She could explain the situation to him later on, if necessary, even though she didn't feel like it at the moment. Martin still seemed preoccupied himself. He hadn't said a word on the entire drive to Inovatec's headquarters.

"What's the woman's name?" Martin asked.

"Cecilia Fisher. She's been here for twelve years. I trust her. If she says that Clyde harassed her, then he did. I do not tolerate that kind of behaviour at my company. I imagine you want to talk to her. I gave her the week off, but you can have her address."

"That would be helpful. Thank you."

They got a copy of Clyde's personal file, even without a court order, and after talking to two more people who had worked with Clyde, they left the building. Both interviews had revealed nothing new. Clyde had performed okay on the job and had kept to himself. They hadn't even known that he was married with children. As to the allegations that he had been harassing Cecilia Fisher, both men questioned didn't really have an opinion. They did say that Clyde liked to look after women, but they hadn't noticed anything in particular. Cecilia didn't live too far from Inovatech, so Samantha and Martin agreed to drive there before heading back to the office.

oOo

Ms. Fisher lived alone in a small apartment. She was younger than Samantha had expected. When Gerald Hamilton had told them that she had been an employee for twelve years, she had expected someone in her forties, but instead, the woman in the doorframe was closer to her own age. Apparently she had just gotten out of bed.

"The FBI? What did I do to deserve the honour?"

"We are here about Clyde Buckner. You claim that he harassed you at work."

"Damn, he did. But since when does that FBI get on that? I figured I'd be lucky if I got someone from NYPD to file a report."

"Clyde Buckner has gone missing. May we come in?"

"Sure, come on in. But don't say I didn't warn you. It's a mess." Cecelia was in a good mood.

Mess was an understatement; every inch was packed with books and newspapers. "I'm an avid reader," Cecelia commented when she noticed their looks. "I'm afraid I can't really help you. The last time I saw that bastard was yesterday at work when I slapped him in the face."

"What happened?"

"He grabbed me. I told him to leave me alone, he didn't, and I slapped him. That got him off me. Then I went to the boss and reported him," Cecelia stated matter-of-factly. "You can view it all on tape. It happened down in the parking garage. Mr. Hamilton had Security pull the tapes when I told him what happened. It's all there."

Samantha gave Martin a look. This lead wasn't going to pan out. Cecelia hadn't gone after Clyde Buckner for some grabbing. She had him on tape doing it and he was going to get fired for it. No motive.

"Thanks for your time, Ms. Fisher. You'll have to come in and sign your official statement later this week."

"Good, I hope you find him," Cecelia grinned. "I'm going to see him in court."

Samantha and Martin walked back to the car in silence, each hanging on to their own thoughts and preoccupations. Both of them had a lot of them on their minds, other than the case. With the sudden news of Clyde going missing, Samantha hadn't gotten any chance to get any perspective on the night spent with Martin. Clyde, whom she hadn't thought about in years, had violently pushed himself to the front of her mind. She didn't want him there; he didn't deserve her personal attention. He did as a missing person, but he didn't as part of her life, not anymore.

"Samantha, what's wrong?" Martin asked her and caught her by surprise. "You walked past the car. Is something on your mind? If this is about last night..."

"No, last night was fine, honestly," she told him more than she knew herself. "It's the case. I know Clyde Buckner, or at least I used to know him. Ten years ago, we were married, for all of six months." Samantha felt like she was confessing.

"You were married?"

"Yes, I was eighteen and didn't know what I was doing." She gave a weak smile. "I haven't seen Clyde since our divorce, still..."

"Does Jack know about this?" Samantha understood the importance of the question, still it bothered her.

"Yes, I told him this morning. He was okay with me working on the case."

"And are you?"

"Yes, I am. It was ten years ago, I was a different person back then," Samantha said.

"But was he?" Martin had a point.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Here is what we have so far. The last person to see Clyde Buckner was his wife Linda. She saw him at home around 10.30 p.m. yesterday night. At 1 a.m., he should have been at work, but never made it. His laptop, computer disks, files and car are gone, but no clothes or other personal things. Linda said he might have taken his files to work, but she isn't sure. His co-workers confirmed that he usually brought in his own materials. So that they are missing might not mean anything."Jack summarized.

"The report from CSU gives not much, except that they found evidence of blood on the floor. It had been wiped off." Vivian handed out a picture of the blood pool made visible by luminol.

"That's quite a lot of blood."

"Yes, but we can't tell how recent it is. It could have been there for years. They sprayed the corridor as well, but found no more blood. Forensics will have DNA and an estimated timeframe on how old the blood is by tomorrow."

"If there is no blood trail, it's not very probable that he was killed or stabbed. There would have been a mess when trying to get rid of the body," Danny considered.

"Maybe someone wrapped him in something, like a shower curtain or plastic bags. But until we have a body and we have DNA, we can't move further on that. It could be his wife's blood for all we know."

Samantha considered the possibility in silence. Had Clyde beaten Linda? He hadn't been physically violent with her, even though he had been a jerk in every other way possible. She looked at Martin and saw the same question on his mind as well.

"Clyde Buckner was having problems at work. According to his boss, he called him that day he disappeared and told him that he was about to get fired for harassing a co-worker. We talked to the boss and to the co-worker in question and the story checks out. Both confirm the allegations and apparently, it was also caught on security tape," Samantha summed up what they had found out so far,

"Might the woman have a motive?" Vivian questioned.

"Didn't seem like it. As far as she's concerned, him going to court would be ideal. She told us that she wanted him found. Also, even before the harassment incident, Clyde was a problem at work. Apparently he had discipline problems."

"Those weren't his only problems. He was in major financial trouble: nine years ago, he started a computer repair business with money that I haven't been able to trace yet. Whatever they were doing, they didn't bother to ever file a tax return. They did however officially go out of business last year. But there are no records of any activity between the foundation of the company and the bankruptcy. Makes you wonder. Afterwards, Clyde was broke. No unusual payments since then. But it gets better. When the company was founded, Clyde Buckner and one Lyle Simmons were listed as partners. I checked into Lyle Simmons. So far, I haven't found him. The address he gave doesn't exist. It looks like Clyde had a bogus business partner."

"Or one who didn't want to use his real name."

"Wait, Lyle Simmons. Linda told us that Lyle Simmons was the father of her older daughter, Carla. We might be able to get the birth certificate or the hospital records."

"You are going to handle that, Samantha." Jack said.

"Martin, I want you to make use of your experience in white collar and talk to the colleagues over there about Clyde's business activities; maybe they can tell us something. Danny, you and I, we'll work our way through the phone records, see if anyone suspicious pops up. Now that we know that Clyde might have been involved in criminal activities, we know what we're looking for."

oOo

Samantha was glad that she could work by herself for the rest of the day. She really needed some room to breathe. She had had enough on her mind, without the past paying her a visit. Unwelcome memories of a forgotten time came back to the surface. It had been a different life back then. She was now a different person; at least she had grown to believe that without question. Seeing how much Clyde had stayed the same and how much his bad traits from back then were now highlighted made her question to what degree her self-image was deluded. Clyde probably saw himself in a very different light than they, the investigators did.

Gathering the results of her research, she walked over to Jack's office. She knocked and was immediately answered. Jack looked stressed out.

"No luck with the phone list?" she asked.

"Uh? No, not so far," he answer distractedly.

"I traced back Linda and Carla. There isn't a father on the birth certificate or in the hospital records, but when Linda was arrested in 1992, custody of her three-month-old daughter was turned over to the father, one Richard Dane. Last know residence was Denver, Colorado. He moved without leaving a forwarding address. That was in winter 1991. He reappeared in 1992 in New York City, where Carla lived with him during Linda's prison sentence. Then nothing until 2001, when Mary Dane, his mother, reported him missing. She knew that he was living in the city, but hadn't heard from him for a couple of years, but after 9/11 she panicked. Nothing ever came of it. I say we talk to Linda and ask why she lied to us about who Carla's father really is. Maybe Richard Dane was the business partner. Jack, are you listening?" Samantha noticed that Jack had a far-away look on his face.

"I'm sorry."

"Problems at home?" Samantha asked, even though it was none of her business.

For a moment Jack considered evading the question or lying to her. "Maria is having an affair."

"I'm sorry."

"It hurts more than it should."

"You're married, you deserve to feel hurt. Have you talked to her yet?"

"She told me," he answered, then corrected. No, I haven't talked to her yet." Jack sighed.

"Call it a day and go home."

Samantha walked out and closed the door behind her. She needed to get out. She needed some alone time away from people, away from the case. It was still rather early, time to work out before going home. She needed to deal with some serious frustration today.

oOo

Jack was frustrated as well. By the time, he got to the main office, Samantha was already gone. He felt bad for not asking how she was handling the case. He should have paid more attention to how she was doing. All day his head had not been at work. All these years he had gotten good at compartmentalizing his life, to the point of ruining his personal life. Now that he tried to get more invested into it, it started to eat away at him. Somewhere there had to be a middle ground. A talk with Maria might be able to clear a few things. Samantha was probably right; he had to talk with her sooner or later, and they couldn't let the issue stand in the room forever. The longer they let it, the more it affected the atmosphere at home. Hannah and Kate had already noticed that something was even more wrong than usual this morning. Jack checked with Danny, who wasn't having much luck with the phone list either, before he left for home. Half an hour later, he arrived home and found Maria already there, sitting in the kitchen reading the paper. From the looks of it, she had been waiting for him. The girls were nowhere to be seen.

"Where are the girls?"

"At my mother's; they're staying overnight. They love it and my mother doesn't mind if it's just on occasion. I think we need an evening to ourselves. We need to clear where we stand. Both of us."

Jack nodded.

"This isn't working; I think we can both agree on that. We have been pretending for the girls' sake, but it's time we look reality in the face." Jack said what had been on his mind for too long. It hurt him to say it out loud. Uttering the words into the room sealed the failure of his marriage that he had realized a long time ago. This was just the final act.

"I'm glad we agree." Maria sounded sincere. "I need some space, Jack. I have been feeling stifled for a long time. I'm moving in with my mother for a while. I need to get clear about my life again." Maria sounded like she had rehearsed that bit thousand of times in her head.

oOo

Samantha's morning had started out far better than the last. She had gone to bed early after an intense work-out the previous evening. Now she felt well rested. Her mood was actually pretty good until she opened the morning paper and came to the local section. She was casually browsing the articles while she was sipping her coffee when she came across something that captured her attention. NYPD was seeking information on a case. Two days ago, an unidentified body had been found. She immediately recognized the picture. She hadn't seen the man in ten years, but she would never forget his face. That his body had been found now couldn't possibly be a coincidence. A chill ran down her back. She had to do something. First Clyde went missing in the same night Erik was found murdered. It all had to do with what had happened on that morning in March 1994. Before yesterday, she hadn't thought of any of it for years--it had all been pushed into a dark corner of her mind--but she didn't have that option anymore now. She would have to tell Jack what she knew and, in doing that, she would have to reveal her own role in the events, something which she had neglected to mention when she had applied at the FBI Academy. Her old self that she thought she had left behind was coming back to haunt her present after all. Nervously, she got ready for work. She was almost out the door when Danny called. He was going to pick her up. They were supposed to check out some addresses from the list of callers and it would save time if they didn't bother driving by the office first. That only delayed the inevitable. She would have to talk to Jack sooner or later today and probably also to the police, as they were investigating the murder case. For a moment, she considered picking up the phone right now, but then she thought better of it. She would do it during lunch break, after she and Danny had checked out the new leads.

Four hours later, they were hungry and knew nothing they hadn't known before. They had driven two hours to learn that one of the callers had moved to Newport two weeks ago. The second address had checked out, but all they had learned there was that Clyde had applied there for a job, had had two phone interviews but hadn't gotten the job in the end. Since it was already past lunchtime, they decided to stop and grab a bite to eat now before returning to the office.

"Danny, can I talk to you about something? It has to do about the case. It's not exactly something I want everyone to know. I figured you are the man for secrets."

"Sure," Danny smirked. Something in his expression told her that Danny already knew a lot of secrets.

"You heard about it. From whom?" Samantha was puzzled.

"Just heard about it," Danny smirked.

"There is something else. One morning, Clyde called me and told me to get the car and pick him up in town. I didn't think of anything and did it. I waited at the corner. I was already considering leaving again, when Clyde and two friends of his came running down the street. They had a bag with them and one of them was bleeding. I was scared. They never told me what had happened. But when I read the next day that a bank--a corner from where I had been waiting-- had been robbed, I knew what they had been up to. That's when I moved out for good. Today, I read in the paper that NYPD found a body that night Clyde disappeared. They haven't been able to identify him, but I'm pretty sure it's Eric Dane. He's the brother of Carla's father."

Danny was silent for a second.

"That's complicated. Have you told Jack about it?"

"No, not yet." This time, the question didn't bother her.

"I will have to; it might play a role in the case, especially since Richard Dane probably is Clyde's business partner."

"I know. I just didn't exactly mention any of this when I applied at the FBI Academy." Samantha frowned. She was well aware of what that meant.

"I understand. But I think Jack can handle it," Danny said and meant it.

"Thanks. I'm going to talk to the police first, can you cover for me at work? I was planning on going during lunch break, but seeing as that's not going to happen, I might as well do it now." Samantha wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the idea, but she had made the decision and there was no backing out of it now. Her conversation with Danny had helped to reassure herself that she was doing the right thing. It might still ruin her career, but it was the right thing to do. She might have run away and not have asked any questions as a scared eighteen-year-old, but she wasn't that same person anymore.

"Sure. I'll drop you off it the station and fill Jack in on our fruitless morning. Seeing the mood he has been in lately, you can be glad that you're not around when he hears the bad news," Danny said light-heartedly as they walked back to the car.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

When Samantha had asked Danny to drop her in front of the police station, she hadn't quite been telling the truth. It hadn't been exactly a lie either. She was going to the police, but not just to make a statement. She knew one Detective Megan Tanner; they went back a long way. Samantha was sure that she could persuade Megan to make a few enquiries for her in exchange for information.

Megan Tanner was sitting at her desk when the officer brought Samantha in.

"Ms. Spade for you," The uniformed policeman announced.

Megan looked up and a smile spread on her face.

"Sam, how long has it been? A year at least?" Megan pulled Samantha into a hug. "How are you doing at the FBI?"

"Being busy," Samantha replied and forced a smile. Megan tilted her head. Something told Samantha that Megan was not totally surprised by her visit. There was an uncomfortable silence as neither woman knew how to begin.

"So you have seen the papers?" Megan asked finally, starting to pace.

"Yes, this morning. It is Eric, isn't it?"

"Of course it is him," Megan hissed.

Megan was wringing her hands and pacing agitatedly. Samantha watched her. She didn't understand why Megan was so nervous. She had known Megan during the time of her marriage, but she had been a casual acquaintance. She had been at a couple of parties. And there had been many parties.

"Clyde Buckner disappeared," Samantha said.

Megan stopped pacing.

"When?"

"The night before yesterday. He left the house late and nobody has seen him since. The FBI is investigating."

"Do you think that he killed Eric?" Megan asked. Samantha thought she could detect something like hope in Megan's voice.

"Maybe. We are considering the possibility," Samantha lied. So far, except for her and Danny, nobody at the FBI knew that Clyde Buckner had robbed a bank together with the Dane brother's and future Special Agent Samantha Spade. Samantha didn't know whether she should laugh or cry. She could practically hear her mother telling her 'I told you so'.

She bid Megan good-bye and left with an ill feeling settling deep in her stomach. Back out on the street, the cold air blew in her face and she pulled her coat closer. Seeing Megan again had brought the past back. How ten years could be such a short time. It seemed like it had happened yesterday. It amazed her how much the hurts of the past could still reach her now. When she had moved out of her parents' home, she had sworn to herself she would never look back. She hadn't and still the past had now caught up with her. Like the icy New York wind was slipping under her coat, the demons of the past were slipping past her well-constructed defences.

oOo

When Samantha arrived back at the office, Danny and Vivian were slaving over a mountain of files at the briefing table. Jack was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey guys. What happened here?" She took in the chaos.

"Buckner was under investigation for tax fraud. The first indictment was filed in 1995 and dropped the following year. He was running a hair salon and forgot to pay taxes. With the next business, another investigation; this time in 1998. The case was closed in 1999. Apparently Clyde had gone out of business and with him, the evidence. At the time he was running a security service." Vivian summed up their work so far.

"Interesting. What about his last business, the computer store? It looks like he didn't pay any income tax. Didn't the IRS notice?"

Vivian shrugged. "There is nothing to indicate that he was ever investigated after 1999. Maybe he figured how to cheat on his taxes and not get caught?"

"Mhm, maybe." Samantha was sceptical. Clyde was greedy, but not very smart. Richard had always been the smart one. "Listen, I need to run something by Jack. Have you seen him?"

"No, he's probably in his office." Danny said.

"I passed there when I got in. He isn't there," Sam replied as she shook her head. Matters would have to wait. "I have to check something out."

She sat down at her desk. She turned on the computer monitor and typed in Megan's name in the FBI data search.

Something hadn't sat right with her when she had spoken with Megan. She had been too nervous and for a casual acquaintance, she had been very sure to recognise Eric after ten years.

As expected, Megan Tanner came up with a clean record. Of course; Megan's career was exemplary. She had risen quickly through the ranks. Sam wasn't sure what she was looking for. Some sort of connection.

Megan Tanner, born Megan Jeffries, in Red Sun, Ohio in 1976. They were born the same year, Sam thought. Married to Timothy Tanner in 2002. No children. Samantha couldn't imagine getting married again. She shook her head. She was imagining things. Maybe Megan had known the Danes better than she remembered. After all, she had left the morning after the robbery. Megan hadn't been involved, but she had been there, she knew. Even if Eric had told her afterwards about the robbery and Megan now knew about it, Samantha wasn't going to ruin another career. If she was going down, she would go down alone.

Slowly, she got up. She had to tell Jack.

oOo

Samantha found Jack down in the parking lot. He was smoking when she got there. She had never seen him look this unhappy.

"Hey Jack. I didn't know you smoked," she said lightly.

"I didn't know how much I had missed smoking," Jack replied. Despite the cold, he was not wearing a coat. "Maria is moving out."

"At least you won't fight." The moment she had said it, it seemed stupid, but Jack didn't seem to mind.

"That's something," he agreed. "I just have no idea how it's supposed to go on with us." He lit another cigarette.

"Have you thought about the alternative?"

Jack nodded. "I can't tell you how often I have in the last few years. If it weren't for the girls..."

"Maybe you should think about the two of you for once," Sam proposed.

Jack smiled. "Being a parent makes everything so much harder...but I wouldn't miss it for the world."

They both stood in silence.

"Jack, I have to tell you something," Samantha began.

"It's all right, I know about it," Jack quickly replied, wanting to avoid the topic.

"What? How? How do you know about the robbery?" Samantha was stunned.

Now it was Jack's turn to stare.

"Robbery? I thought you and Martin..."

"No." Sam felt herself blush. "Clyde Buckner, Richard Dane and his brother Eric Dane robbed a bank in April of 1994."

Jack waited for her to continue.

"I was there. Not in the bank, but I waited for them in the car. I didn't know what they were going to do. Only when I read about the robbery in the paper the next day, I put the pieces together. Then, yesterday, Eric Dane was murdered. I read about it in the paper this morning."

"You should have come to me right away," Jack said softly.

"I know. I guess I just hoped that this would all stay in the past," Sam said sorrowfully.

"It would have been easier for everyone. At least the statute of limitation has run out on the armed robbery." Jack put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam shook her head. "There was a shooting, if someone died..."

"Go home. Take a few days off." Jack was serious.

"I...what are you going to do? Jack! You can't just..." Sam shook Jack's hand off her shoulder. Her face was flushed with anger. She turned to stride towards the door, but Jack grabbed her hard by the arm.

"Let me go!" Sam hissed. You're hurting me." She shot Jack a look of anger and hurt.

Jack released her arm. "I'm sorry." He hadn't meant to hurt her; it had been a reflex. "Just listen to me. Just let me figure out a way to fix this."

"There isn't anything to fix. I made a mistake. I thought I could run away from the past, but it turns out I can't," Sam laughed with bitterness.

"All of us have done things we aren't proud of and that we'd like to forget."

Sam turned and left without looking back. She didn't need empty phrases.

oOo

Jack had the team assembled at the briefing table two hours later. The murder of Eric Dane was now officially a federal case and Richard Dane's picture had been added to the white board, next to Clyde Buckner's.

If Martin and Vivian wondered about Sam's absence, neither of them asked about her.

"On April 21st, 1994, three men robbed the Northern United Bank in Manhattan. They stole a grand total of two million and three hundred thousand dollars plus an estimated quarter million in cash, gold and jewellery from the safety deposit boxes. They stole every cent that was in the bank, down to the wallets of everyone who was there at the time of the robbery."

"Professionals?" Vivian asked.

"That was the assumption at the time," Jack said. "They walked into the bank two minutes after opening. They wore baseball caps and possibly wigs. One of them walked up to the counter and handed the cashier a written note demanding she hand over the money in her cash drawer, while another robber asked to be taken down to the safe deposit boxes. He presented valid identification for one of the boxes, so the cashier didn't suspect anything. As soon as they were on their way down, the power shorted out. Robbers one and three stayed in the checking hall, emptying all the cash drawers and taking the wallets of the cashiers and one customer: a woman with her seven-year-old daughter. Robber two was down in the vault room with one of the cashiers. The vault has a time lock, which the employees cannot open; it only opens at a predetermined time, after the regular opening hours. Robber two used the master key to empty the safe deposit boxes. With the time lock disabled by the power outage, the robbers only needed to disable the mechanical lock to open the vault. The robbers were about to leave when one of the security guards tried to stop them. One of the robbers panicked and started shooting, killing the two security guards and one of the tellers and wounding the two customers, including the seven-year-old girl. They were out in less than twenty minutes," Jack said as he laid out the robber's MO.

"Everything looks like this was definitely a crew of pros, and they either had help from inside or another way to get in the system," Vivian commented after listening to Jack's introduction. "Were there any other cases that fit this particular MO? You don't get a crew like this together to pull just one heist."

"In this case, someone did. This was the first and only case with this exact MO. The FBI Robbery Squad formed a task force to investigate the robbery. I had all their files brought from storage, the whole eighteen months of investigative work. Agent Fairholm was the lead agent on the case. He retired a few months after the investigation into the Northern United robbery was closed." Jack put four boxes of files on the table. The team looked at them in silent resignation. It would take days to read all of them; it would be far faster to talk to Agent Fairholm.

"What does any of this have to do with our case?" Martin asked. He could guess that the missing Clyde Buckner was somehow involved in the robbery from ten years ago, but he had also noted that a second photograph had gone up on the white board.

Jack wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

"I think we have found the three robbers: Clyde Buckner, Richard Dane and Eric Dane." Jack added three sketches to the white board. "These were made from the witness' descriptions."

The sketches bore vague resemblance to the two men at best with regard to their facial features, but the hair was entirely different. There was no photograph to match the third sketch.

"Buckner's friend and accomplice, Richard Dane, born in Red Sun, Ohio, in 1971. That's all we know. After that his trail goes cold. Never paid taxes in his life and has no driver's licence. But we'll dig deeper. Now that the investigation into the Northern United robbery is open again, we have jurisdiction over the case. The robbery itself is out. We are a few years too late for that, but there is no statute of limitation on murder."

"Who pulled the trigger?" Martin leaned back and asked.

"We don't know. One of the robbers in the checking hall--a redhead-- according to witnesses."

All eyes settled on the photograph of Richard Dane, a grinning young man with grey eyes and ginger hair.

"Is he the only redhead in the family?" Vivian asked.

"No." Jack added the enlarged image of an Ohio driver's licence. Eric Dane's face was framed with bright red hair. "Eric Dane was found dead at the Ollivette Hotel in Brooklyn yesterday morning." Jack put up yet another picture in the white board, this one showing the crumpled body of a young man with short red hair, staring up at the viewer, his light blue shirt stained with dark red blood. "Shot twice in the chest at close range with a 9-mm Beretta. We are still waiting on the ballistics."

"What do we know about the third man?" Vivian asked.

"More than we do about the others. Eric Dane was born in Red Sun, Ohio, in 1976. According to DMV, he moved to New York City in 1988, had various small-time dead-end jobs, but he did attend Brooklyn Community College during the evenings. He graduated with a BA in economics in 1992, got a steady job with some small magazine after that. Nothing after that, until two weeks after the robbery when he suddenly moved to Hayden, Washington. He got married three years later, had a son, divorced last year, and went back to school. The full program."

"He started over again--a new life. But something made him come back here. Have you managed to find out what happened to his share of the money?" Vivian asked.

"Maybe he started a college fund for his son, right after he was born. One million dollars. That's a lot of money for a guy who made $35,000 a year. And almost his entire share of the robbery. He never touched most of the money. He saved it all for his son." Jack said.

"We need to talk with his ex-wife, find out if he ever had contact with Clyde or Richard after he left New York City. Also, we need to find out if she knew about the money. I'm calling the local field office; we need phone records and financials on Eric Dane, anything to explain why he was in New York the night he was killed." Jack felt energized again. This new information was starting to shed some light on what they might be dealing with. By now it was fairly clear that Clyde's disappearance and Eric's murder were most likely connected with the bank robbery. Something--they didn't know what yet--had brought the three robbers together again…and had resulted in violence. His instinct told him that the key was to be found in how the three robbers had chosen to spend their share. They already knew what Eric Dane had done with his part of the share and Vivian and Danny were working on Buckner's finances. If Eric Dane had put a million in savings, that would put him above a third of the share. Someone was half a million short and Jack had seen people killed over less than fifty bucks.

What puzzled Jack was it seemed like, that out of the blue, these three men had decided to rob a bank, had pulled it off like they had never done anything else and then had gone back to being upstanding citizens. They had been young, with no education and no money, trying to make ends meet in the big city.

The thought wasn't as shocking as he had expected. Somehow the revelations of the last two days had dulled his feelings; he just absorbed new pieces of information with little emotional feedback. He had stopped asking questions of Samantha; they were just draining her energy. He had seen it many times in her work. No one ever really knew the people around themselves. Husbands led doubles lives, wives had secret lovers, children took drugs and no one ever knew. No one ever wanted to know.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Agent Fairholm gestured for Jack and Martin to take a seat in the small living room, while he wheeled himself back to his place by the radiator.

"Agent Fairholm, I'm Agent Malone. I called you earlier. We are here about the Northern United robbery back in 1994."

"Former Agent Fairholm," Fairholm corrected Jack. "Yes, I was the lead agent on the case. It was my first case when I headed up the robbery division. It was the biggest case of my career. I guess I missed that train. I always had the feeling that we were just one step short of catching them. But we had to close the case without any viable suspects. What reopened the case now?"

Jack hesitated. "A witness came forward. We are still waiting for confirmation from the DNA, but we are fairly certain that we know who the robbers were. Did you ever come across Eric or Richard Dane or one Clyde Buckner?"

"No." Fairholm shook his head. "We talked to a lot of people, but I'm pretty sure we didn't talk to them. When the robber trio turned out to be a dead end early on, we concentrated on the helpers behind the scenes. My team and I went over it a dozen times; there is no way they pulled this off without inside help from at least two people. First, they knew exactly what security systems the banks had and they were able to shut down the cameras. And second, they were able to cause a power outage covering twenty blocks. For that..."

"About the power outage. How did it happen?" Martin interrupted him.

"We never found out for certain. The manager at Manhattan Central Power was stonewalling us. They were going through a crisis at the moment, and probably didn't want any bad publicity. The manager insisted that it was all just a system glitch, a random malfunction."

"Ever find any evidence to say otherwise?" Jack asked. It was as clear to him as it had been to Fairholm that power didn't just go out right when three men were robbing a bank.

"The manager, Doyle I think was his name, wouldn't let us have anything without a court order.

Judge gave us one, and we turned the place upside down. If there was any physical tampering, they cleaned up. Nothing in the logs or security reports about an incident. We even checked out the computers and that was before cybercrimes existed. Back then, we didn't have the means we have now to restore data that's been wiped. We were awfully behind the bad guys on the technology in those years. Honestly, a group that's able to completely shut down a bank's alarm system, open a time lock on a vault and evade the police for ten years and counting, I'd estimate them capable of creating some sort of computer virus. There was someone very smart behind this robbery," Fairholm said intently.

"Unfortunatly all we have so far are the grunts of the enterprise," Jack remarked.

"How certain are you that you have the right guys?"

"Well, as he said DNA will give us the final confirmation," Martin said. "But everything else fits."

"That will be all then." Jack pocketed his note block and pen. "Thank you for your help, Mr Fairholm."

"I hope you have more luck than we did. We talked to almost four hundred people in total and nothing came of it. They shot a seven-year-old girl in the leg and left her to die. They don't deserve to be out there." Fairholm accompanied them to the door. "Good luck, Agents."

The moment they were out in the corridor, Martin turned to Jack. "What was all that about us having a witness? If you are playing something, I need to be in the loop!" Martin snapped.

"I received a confidential tip about the robbery from an informant," Jack lied.

"You are basing all our investigation on this tip? What if it isn't reliable?" Martin challenged, still angry.

"I trust my source. Besides, we will have confirmation from the DNA test by tomorrow." Jack tried to calm thongs down. He could see where Martin was coming from. They had chased after false information from sources before.

"If Clyde was really one of the robbers, his share of the money has to be gone by now. Maybe he contacted his old buddy Eric, they met in the City and things escalated. Clyde kills Eric and takes off," Martin proposed, changing the subject.

"CSU found signs of blood in Clyde's house. There might be something to your theory. But I have the feeling there is still a lot that we are missing. You heard Fairholm, there were at least two players in the background. I'd like to know who they are. If Clyde wanted to get money out of his partners, he might have contacted more than just Eric Dane," Jack thought out loud. "I want you to go back to Clyde's wife. Grab Danny."

"Where are you going?" Martin asked as they walked to the car.

"I'm going to catch a flight to Seattle."

oOo

Danny pressed down on the doorbell for the third time.

"Think she has taken off?" Martin asked Danny.

"Might have. If she has any idea what her husband used to do in her spare time, it was the smart thing to do."

"Martin raised his fist and pounded against the door.

"Mrs Buckner, FBI! Open the door!"

No reaction came from inside.

"I'm hearing nothing. I'll go around back and have a look in the windows." Danny announced and went around the corner.

He peeked into the kitchen window. The curtains were partially parted. He couldn't see much, but there was a glass tipped over on the table, water spilled over and a bottle of milk standing next to it.

Walking further, he reached the back window. The living room was in order, aside from the TV still being turned on.

"Martin! Come over and have a look!" he called out to his fellow agent. Martin jogged over.

"What is it?"

"Looks like something happened. Exigent circumstances? Think a judge will buy it?" Danny asked with a sly grin on his face.

"I'm sure of it. If not, I still have the private number of Judge Thayer from the Fourth Appellate Court, if you want us to get a warrant." Martin shrugged.

"Getting a warrant would take us at least an hour, I say, we'll go right now. Better call CSU." Danny decided, walking back to the entrance.

Martin took an appraising look at the door, trying to decide how to get rid of the obstacle. It was when Danny tried simply opening the door first that they gained entrance to the Buckner residence.

Immediately they were hit with the smell of something turning into charcoal briskets.

"I think we came just before the fire department. Kitchen?" Danny called over the blaring of the smoke detector.

Martin nodded and headed for the kitchen. Smoke was wafting from the edges of the oven. Martin grabbed a dishrag and pulled open the oven door, releasing a cloud of smoke. He coughed and waved away the smoke from his face.

"Crap. Burned biscuits. Someone beat it out of here." He pulled out the baking sheet.

He looked around. A bottle of milk was on the table, along with a tipped-over glass. He felt the milk bottle; it was warm. It had been outside for a few hours. Everything else looked like a typical suburban kitchen.

Martin wandered into the living room, joining Danny.

"Look at what I found." Danny pointed to the wall. There was definitely a bullet imbedded in the wall. "Bullet. I'm sure that wasn't there when CSU was here the first time."

"Yeah, someone made a point here," Martin nodded.

oOo

Half an hour later, the premises were swarming with CSU agents. Agent John Fern rolled away a large white rug from in front of the couch. On the light hardwood floor were smears of blood.

"Agent Taylor! I found something here," Fern called out.

"What have you got?" Danny leaned over Fern's shoulder.

"Look for your self. Blood smears. Wiped up and covered up with the rug, but they didn't do a very thorough job of it. I'll send a sample to the lab," Fern said, bagging the sample.

"How long till you have a result? We could be dealing with the kidnapping of a child," Danny said, not thinking of that possibility for the first time.

"I'll put in a good word for you with the night shift techs," Fern replied. "I dug out the bullet. If the same gun has been used before, you'll know by tonight. If not, ballistics might still be able to narrow it down a little, if you are lucky."

"Thanks, doc," Danny said and walked back towards the front door. The door was wide open and Martin was standing in the driveway, talking to an elderly couple when Danny walked up to them.

He caught snippets of their conversation.

"A dark SVU, sometime last week," the man said.

"Do you recall what colour it was?" Martin asked, taking notes.

"Maybe black, or it could have been blue. Might have been green," the woman piped up in a high voice.

Danny sidled up to Martin.

"Have you ever seen any visitor?" Martin asked the couple.

The man shrugged. "Clyde was talking to a young man out here. I was driving by when I saw them. I think it was two days ago."

"What did he look like?"

"A young man. Red hair," the man recalled. His wife nodded in agreement.

"We'll need you to come to our office later to look at some pictures," Martin told them.

"We're glad to help. They are such a nice couple; the girl sometimes came by bringing us cookies from her mother. She's such a sweet girl," the woman told Danny.

"We'll do what we can," they reassured the couple. Walking back to the house, Danny turned to Martin.

"I just don't understand this. Clyde Buckner had it all. House in a nice neighbourhood, wife, kid. Why is he risking it all?" The question had been bugging Danny since they had learned about Buckner's past. He knew how hard it was to work your way up.

"We don't know what happened between Buckner and Eric Dane. The past might have caught up with Clyde, no matter how much he changed. You can try to forget, but one day it's going to catch up with everyone," Martin answered quietly. Danny wondered whether the man was speaking from experience. He would have thought that someone like Martin with the perfect family had the perfect past as well. But as they saw on the job, digging into people's lives, there were skeletons in everyone's closet and he had the feeling that their investigation hadn't even begun to uncover what bodies, literally, Clyde Buckner had buried in his basement.

oOo

Vivian hung up the phone. The investigation was expanding rapidly, now that Jack had decided to pursue the robbery theory aggressively. There was no forensic evidence that any of the three men had been involved with the bank robbery, but the co-incidences were starting to pile up and Jack seemed to have an informant he trusted who could confirm the identity of the robbers.

The team would have to re-investigate the robbery again as, while the question of the doers was answered, the MO was still unclear and part of the money

unaccounted for.

Now that people were starting the die, they needed to find the masterminds behind the robbery. There was a record of an interview with the city power company on file, but apparently nothing had ever come of it. Vivian had not been able to find any trace of an investigation into the security angle. But with a foot worth of files, she wasn't sure that it wasn't in there somewhere.

oOo

The office looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the sixties. The windows were deeply stained, tinted yellow brown. The smell of stale cigarette smoke exuded from the worn carpet. A dreg-encrusted coffeemaker stood forgotten between heaps of files and loose paper.

"Doyle's desk is in the back. Can't miss it." The receptionist showed her into the cluttered office at the Central Manhattan Power Company. Vivian carefully walked by heaped desks. A few people looked up as she passed by.

The last desk was occupied by a middle-aged man with whitening hair. His gold-on-black nameplate said 'Dr. Kyle Doyle'.

"Mr Doyle?"

"Yes. You must be the FBI agent. I would offer you a seat, but as you can see, space is at a premium here." Doyle smiled apologetically.

"Hopefully it won't take long. I'm here about a power outage on April 21st 1994." Vivian kept the information to a minimum, waiting to see what Doyle was willing to volunteer.

"Yeah, I was here in 1994. Been here since 1989. I recall that outage. And it wasn't really an outage. It was a computer glitch. Those were pioneer times after all. Some whiz kid from MIT was working our systems back then and next think I know, it's on the fritz all the time. Maybe it just wasn't the time."

"Your software was unstable?" Vivian asked. She wasn't buying the frequent glitches explanation.

"Maybe; most of the time, our systems were reacting too slow and we couldn't deliver enough power soon enough at times of high usage. But luckily we only had one big power failure," Doyle said.

Doyle really had no clue about the technical aspects of the company, Vivian realized. There was power or no power in his world.

"Do you remember anything about this whiz kid?" She changed directions.

"I hired him straight from MIT. In those days there weren't that many computer programmers out there yet. I think his name was Ryan Kensington. I fired him sometime in summer '94 because of the shoddy programming and hired someone with actual field experience. Did have to pay twice the salary though."

Doyle didn't sound overly broken up about his software engineer.

"The FBI is investigating this incident because it is possibly related to a crime committed the same day. Your co-operation in this matter would be very much appreciated." Vivian decided to come clean with the facts, in the hopes to get Doyle's interest.

Doyle looked clueless.

"Surveillance videos, computer logs?" Vivian prompted, her patience starting to wear thin.

"We have video surveillance on the corridors. But there was no spyware back in '94. Pioneer days as I said. It's best if you ask Mr Marquette, our security chief; he'll know what's still in our archives from back then." Doyle seemed relieved to have found a way to delegate responsibility.

"Thank you. I will still need a list of all your employees in 1994, with home addresses," Vivian added.

Doyle hadn't been overly helpful. Apparently the twenty-block blackout had been chalked up to human error and the matter had been left at that. It would be a lot more difficult to investigate a case of potential sabotage now, ten years after the fact when memories had faded and people had moved on.

oOo

The best place to start and their only concrete suspect was the so-called whiz kid, Ryan Kensington. His address was listed only a few blocks from the office of his previous employer, so Vivian decided to get his story right away, given that he was still living under the same address.

The apartment building was a sixteen story, modern building with expensive looking big windows. The classy entrance hall, furnished in warm tones combined with polished aluminium, confirmed the impression that this was not the typical place for a guy's first apartment after college.

Behind a counter in the hall sat two burly men, their broad shoulders and black suits practically screaming security team. As soon as she entered, their entire attention was focussed on her, and only when she showed them her badge, the tension dropped.

"I'm looking for Ryan Kensington. He lived in this building in '94," Vivian asked, not liking the way the security guards were still looking at her even after she had identified herself.

"Kensington? He moved out in August the same year. Still owns the apartment though. Lived there with his fiancé, Rodnina Villeroy. She still lives up there. But I haven't seen him in ten years. I guess the wedding is off." The smaller one of the guards chuckled.

"Did Mr. Kensington leave a new address where he could be reached?"

"He didn't even really move out if I think about it. All he had was a suitcase. Rodnina probably chased him out one night. He asked me to call him a cab and that was the last I saw of him," the small guard shrugged.

"Do you by any chance recall where he wanted to go?" Vivian asked, hoping to get to the point since the security guards obviously took an active interest in the lives of the tenants.

"I think he wanted to go to the airport, but I don't recall to which one," the guard replied.

"Well, thank you. Is Rodnina Villeroy home?"

oOo

Rodnina Villeroy fitted her apartment perfectly. Tall, slender, with long copper hair and dressed in a cream designer suit, she reminded Vivian of a European fashion model.

Rodnina gracefully moved to sit down on the black leather couch in the living room. Sunlight streaming in through a floor-length window brightened the spacious room. Rodnina folded her arms in front of her chest and narrowed her eyes, focussing on Vivian.

"You said you were here about Ryan. So I guess it was true after all. I always suspected that he was dead."

"Why do you think that?" Vivian had gathered that Ryan Kensington had dropped off the face of the earth in the summer of 1994. He could by buried in Central Park or living in Panama; their chances of finding him weren't good after ten years.

"It was in August '94. Ryan is, or rather was a software engineer. Back then it was called computer scientist. After he was fired at the power company, I encouraged him to look for jobs not just in the city. I eventually got him an interview with the Kale Institute, a private think tank. They offered him a job. It wasn't what he wanted. Kale was building an office in Asia at the time, Singapore. When Ryan couldn't find anything here, he decided to take the offer from Kale. But he didn't really want to. He packed a suitcase and walked out that door. That was the last time I ever saw him." Rodnina told Vivian, sadness ringing in her voice.

"You haven't tried to contact him?" Vivian asked.

"Kale was supposed to arrange everything for him when he got there, so he didn't know his new number yet. He said he'd call me. When the weeks passed and nothing happened, I figured he wasn't going to call anymore. I guess I didn't want to face the truth, whatever it was." Rodnina paused. "Kale disbanded in 1998. Then I knew that Ryan was dead."

"I heard that you were engaged at the time. How were things in your relationship if Ryan was leaving for Singapore?" Vivian asked, sensing that there was more to Rodnina's story. She didn't get the impression that Rodnina was involved in Ryan's disappearance, but maybe Ryan had run from more than the police.

"We were young and stupid," Rodnina said angrily. "Ryan was a genius. He had his master's when he was twenty-two. But my parents didn't approve of him. We didn't exactly run in the same circles before we met. Back then I refused to listen to my parents."

Vivian nodded. "But now you think that they were right?"

Rodnina dropped her head into her hands. "I have been thinking about Ryan more in the last ten years in the time that I have known him. Ryan had a dark side. I knew he had some shady friends; they were over here a few times. As my father would have said: They weren't our kind of people."

"Do you know the names of any of his friends?" Vivian asked.

"Dick, I think he called this one guy. And there was a young couple here a few times as well. The word 'white trash' comes to mind. They sat around the computer, ate junk food and smoked pot. I nearly kicked Ryan out after that," Rodnina recalled.

"Any idea where the drugs came from?"

"God no! It might have been the 90s, but I only drank. I was too smart to smoke away my brain," Rodnina laughed. "But I do have some pictures of Ryan and his friends from our New Years Party." Rodnina got up and walked to the shelf, pulling out a thick scrapbook. She carried it over to the table.

"I made it after Ryan disappeared. I put in everything I could find about him, about his life. Only then I realized that there was so much that I hadn't know about him. Maybe if I had, he would still be alive today," Rodnina whispered.

"Ms Villeroy, until we have a chance to verify official records, there is no way of knowing what happened to your fiancé," Vivian reassured her, knowing they were empty words to the pained woman who had lost the man she loved ten years ago.

"Have you ever reported Ryan missing?" Vivian asked.

"No, I haven't. I couldn't prove that he wasn't off somewhere in Asia, me and New York out of his mind," Rodnina said sadly. She opened the scrapbook at the first page.

"Ryan's hometown, Red Sun in Ohio. Population 2789, at least the year Ryan was born, in 1973. I always wanted to go there with him, but he didn't want to take me. I got the impression there were some bad memories at home." Rodnina smiled.

Vivian could imagine why Ryan Kensington would have wanted to stay away from his former hometown. In a town this small, he had to have met the Dane brothers at one time or another. Three out of three thousand in the same city, the same month and all involved in a bank robbery. There was no such luck of the draw.

Rodnina interrupted her thoughts. "This is from the bar where we met. I still have the receipts. Ophelia's Tavern. It closed down a few years ago. I have been asking around a bit. You know, just Ryan's favourite spots, to see if anyone ever saw him again." She smiled.

"But that's what I really wanted to show you." She flipped ahead several pages and turned the scrapbook to face Vivian. "Our New Years Party, 1993. We had a strange crowd in here."

Vivian looked over the pictures, scanning smiling faces, but when her gaze fell on the photograph of a group with raised glasses, all smiling into the camera, the realization dawned on her like a shower of ice. She knew what Jack had known all along. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together.

In the photograph, two men with red hair framed a young couple. A very familiar blonde woman with her arm wrapped around a young Clyde Buckner.

"Agent Johnson, is something wrong?" Rodnina's voice penetrated the rush of her thoughts.

"No, I'm fine. Could you please try to make a list of the people who attended the New Years party in '93?" Vivian struggled to regain her footing.

"Was there someone at the party who was involved with what happened to Ryan?" Rodnina asked anxiously. She had been waiting for ten years and there wasn't a possibility she hadn't considered. She had accepted that Ryan was dead.

Vivian weighed her options. Rodnina's pain was genuine, she had no doubt about that. She really had loved Ryan Kensington. But love and hate were sides of the same coin. Rodnina was a smart woman and her instinct told her that the woman knew more than she was telling.

"It's a nice apartment. Great view of the river," Vivian commented lightly.

Rodnina smiled, but there was tension in her features.

"My parents made sure that I was well cared for, even once they weren't able to look out for me anymore." She paused. "But I have my own business: custom designer clothing. Each piece is unique. Two stores here in the city, one in L.A. I don't have to worry about money. Recession or not, there are always people with money."

"So you paid for the both of you?" Vivian asked, determined to find out just what Rodnina was hiding.

"Ryan was doing well, financially." Rodnina hesitated and Vivian knew that she had struck a nerve. "He worked sometimes for private contractors on the side. Computer security."

Vivian guessed that it had been more than computer security and that Rodnina had at least suspected.

"Do you still have his computer or any of his files, back-ups maybe?" Vivian asked.

"Yes. His computer is still here. He couldn't take it with him; there were no laptops at the time. But he wiped it. I tried finding something on it myself. All his discs are gone; he must have taken them with him," Rodnina said.

"I'll still send someone to pick up the computer and any documents related to his work that you still have. They might help us find Ryan," Vivian explained.

"Why are you starting to look for him now, after ten years? Ryan really did something illegal, didn't he?" Rodnina asked, suddenly insecure again. Her worst suspicions about her fiancé were about to come true, she feared.

"We don't know anything yet." Vivian didn't mention her very concrete suspicions.

"Please, can you at least keep me informed? I need to know...even if Ryan really is dead. Ten years is a long time, Agent Johnson," Rodnina asked quietly.

"We might..." Vivian broke off, realizing that Rodnina was in enough pain. "I will let you know when I have something."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Sam listlessly poked at her microwave dinner—chicken, rice and vegetables. She wasn't actually hungry, but the evening hours had stretched endlessly and nothing seemed to hold her attention. She had tried to watch TV, had tried to read from the stack of books piling up on her nightstand, she had even tried to catch up on some housework, but she hadn't been able to stick to anything. Eventually she had given up. Going to the gym had helped for a while. The treadmill had given her body a workout, even though it did nothing for her restless mind. Physically worn out, she had returned home in time for a late meal.

Sam was the first to admit that she wasn't the domestic type; cooking wasn't her strong suit. She ate out more often than not and on the nights she didn't, she usually stayed late at the office, grabbing a snack from one of the vending machines at the FBI building.

With a sigh, Sam got up, took the half-filled plate and tossed the contents into the trash. She couldn't possibly eat and the worst thing was that she had brought this all on herself. There was no one to blame but herself. All the rationalisations aside, she had made the decision to wait in the car that day. Clyde had been her husband, but they hadn't had the kind of relationship that had engendered blind loyalty. The only thing that had been good with Clyde was the sex…and the fact that he was different from just about everyone in Kenosha. Clyde had come from a small town in the middle of nowhere just like she. When she had first met him, she had been impressed by how easy going he was. Everyone else she knew was struggling to get by, living with a tense look on their faces as they were working long hours on meagre pay. Clyde didn't have a lot of money either, but he was always in a good mood, was full of jokes. But he'd had a fierce temper and not a high opinion of monogamy.

In retrospect, Sam wasn't sure what to think of Clyde at all. It was clear that their relationship could never have lasted. She had been new in the city and had latched onto the first man she had been able to find. She had been eighteen years old and had known nothing about what life was really like. Still, she should have seen that there was more going on with Clyde and his friends. There had been subtle clues, not just that morning of the robbery. Sam had told Jack everything she knew about the robbery, but there were signs that Clyde might have been planning a crime. She had worked in law enforcement long enough to know that robbers didn't do just one job. There had to be other crimes. Maybe Clyde had started with jewellery or cars before he had graduated to banks, but it was unlikely that robbing a bank was the first time he had broken the law.

Sam thought about calling Jack. He'd probably already thought about checking the database for similar robberies, but she felt the need to talk to him.

Sam knew that she should probably tell Martin as well. What had happened after they had left the bar wasn't something she could just ignore. She couldn't tell herself that she hadn't wanted to invite Martin home. The bottle of champagne in the fridge had come in handy. The attraction was there; Sam couldn't deny it. It had been good, very good, that night.

Martin was too clean cut, too perfect, too protected to share this part of her past with him. Besides, she didn't want to put him into a position where he had to decide between protecting her and protecting his career. She wasn't sure that Martin, or his father, could handle it. She didn't know Martin that well, but she knew that he was well under the thumb of his father.

Sam had just switched on the news when the doorbell rang.

oOo

Francis Viralli opened the back door of his small store, dragging the trash back out after him. It was a slow night; business wasn't going well these days. Nobody had any money more anymore.

He opened the dumpster and tossed the trash bag inside. He was just about to go back inside when he spotted a bare leg sticking out from behind the dumpster. Probably another one of these homeless drunks driving away honest customers.

"Hey, you! Get up! Find another place to sleep!" Francis stepped around the dumpster. The woman slumped between scattered trash was in her underwear, the blood in her hair looking black in the dim light.

oOo

By the time Danny and Martin returned to the office, it was already past eight. Martin had insisted they swing by a hot dog stand on the way back to grab a bite to eat. Danny had agreed; the fifteen minutes wouldn't matter. It had taken them almost four hours to work their way down the street, knocking on doors left and right. They didn't have much to show for their efforts. The elderly couple had been the most helpful witnesses. What the couple had seen only confirmed their suspicions. Clyde Buckner's disappearance and now the disappearance of his wife Linda and their daughter was linked to the bank robbery and his former accomplices, the Dane bothers.

Vivian was sitting at her computer, intending to finish up for the day, when they walked into the office.

"I was about to report you missing as well. Where were you all day?" Vivian fixated them. She sounded unusually frustrated.

"Out in America's suburbs. Linda Buckner and her daughter are gone. Everything looks like they left in hurry, probably not voluntarily. CSU found some blood in the living room and a fresh slug in the wall. Fern put a rush on it." Danny walked over to his desk, looking around for a report from the crime lab. The manila folder was on next to the keyboard. He flipped it open.

"It looks like we were right about this from the start. Neighbours saw a man with red hair with Buckner recently. The couple is coming in tomorrow to identify the man they saw, but I bet it was one of the Dane bothers. How many redheads does Buckner know? Not that many, I guess. We gave out an APB for Linda's car, but so far no hits." Martin sighed. "They could be in Canada by now. It's not exactly the border to Libya."

Now that a child was involved, the case was more than a dispute among criminals gotten out of control. They were all under more pressure to find the girl and her mother. The FBI had come late in the game, ten years late.

"I'm not so sure they are trying to leave the country. Fern put in a good word for us at the lab and we got the results. The blood was female, no match in the database." Danny turned the page. "The slug from the wall is where it gets interesting. It's not a match with the bullet that killed Eric Dane or the gun used in the 1994 robbery. But the baby is no stranger to our database. It's a .45 calibre ACP. It matches a robbery from New Years Eve 1999."

"You couldn't legally buy a MAC-10 after '94. Were the detectives able to trace were the gun came from?" Vivian asked.

"I'll pull the file and see what happened to the gun." Martin's energies seemed to have been refuelled by the stop at the hot dog stand. His suit bore the evidence of a long day, but Martin was still bouncing with enthusiasm. "I'll head down to the archives." Martin hadn't even sat down yet.

Danny sat down at his desk, glad to be able to finally get off his feet. He wasn't used to working the streets anymore. He longed for a shower and a real, hot meal. If he'd taken the bar exam that day...

"Jack called, he's landed at Sea-Tac twenty minutes ago. He is going to drive out to Hayden tomorrow," Vivian said, interrupting his thoughts.

"I wouldn't be surprised if no one has seen Richard Dane for two days. We practically know for certain that he and his brother did rob that bank ten years ago." Danny leaned back in his chair.

"We should have the DNA results by tomorrow," Vivian said.

Danny shot her a curious look. She seemed oddly silent, not having said a word about what results her day had yielded. There was something going on underneath the surface. Danny wasn't one to pry into the private lives of his colleagues. It wasn't his business and he didn't want to know.

"What did they say at the power company? Still the old story?" he asked, keeping his question strictly on the case.

"Doyle, the manager, came up with a name he apparently didn't know ten years ago: a software engineer responsible for the systems in '94. According to Doyle, there were quite a few glitches during the spring of that year, so he didn't think anything of it back then."

Danny snorted in disbelief. "He is still running the company?"

"He didn't seem overly invested in his business. The software engineer's name is Ryan Kensington. Doyle fired him in August '94 for bad performance. I talked to his fiancé from that time. It turns out that Mr. Kensington disappeared less than a month later. I haven't had a chance to verify yet what the woman told me, but according to her, he took a job with an American company in Singapore, but nobody ever heard from him again. I called the regional office to see if he ever worked there," Vivian said.

"He might just have skipped out on the fine lady," Danny considered with a grin. "But then again, he might never have boarded his plane. He could virtually be anywhere, and I'm not just talking about the whole country." Danny sighed.

"Who could be anywhere? What did I miss?" Martin had heard the last part of what Danny had said when he walked back into the office, the file from the Bodega robbery in hand.

"You took your time! Did you grab a coffee on the way?" Danny teased as he spun around on his chair. "You did miss probably the best and worst news of the day. We probably knew who else was in on the robbery—at least one of them. Ryan Kensington. Vivian got his name from Manhattan Power. The bad news is that he could be anywhere in the world. The last thing we know is that he was supposed to take a job in Singapore."

"I guess that's not in the travel budget," Martin said.

"Your food is hardly in the travel budget. I don't think that Van Doran will let is vacation down there on government time. You better contact the state department tomorrow and find out if Kensington was ever awarded a work permit. I'll hit the airlines." Danny smiled tiredly.

Vivian got up from her chair. "You guys carry on. I need to get home early one evening this week," she said slightly inwardly and went to get her coat.

Danny and Martin looked after her.

"What's wrong with Vivian?" Martin asked. He'd picked up on her abrupt demeanour as well. He recalled Jack's secrecy about the informant who had gotten the case rolling in the first place and knew that there was more to this case than he was aware of. He'd only been with the unit a little over a year, so he didn't expect to be in on all the history, but if the case had connected to someone or something bigger, he needed to be in the loop. Martin glanced over at Danny, who was reading through a file from Vivian's desk. Danny didn't seem any different than usual, but with him Martin could never quite tell what was going on behind the curtain. If he hadn't left things with Sam at the proverbial morning after, he'd call it a day and spend the rest of the evening with her. Maybe see a movie. The prospect sounded pretty good to him. But Sam hadn't exactly been in a talkative mood when they had gotten called out to their latest case and Martin hadn't been to one to start an awkward conversation. They had both been rather drunk and some things were best not talked about. Martin turned to the file he had pulled from the FBI archives and settled in for a late night.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

The night was balmy, one of the last summer nights of the year. It was still fairly warm in the first hour of morning. Martin and Danny could already see the yellow crime scene tape around the back of the small rest stop store. A uniformed officer was walking up to them from the far part of the rest stop, secluded by darkness and trees, on the other side of the store.

"Agents, EMS already rushed her off to St. John's. We're still waiting on CSU. We've been trying to hold all the witnesses until you came. Some have been pretty anxious to leave." The uniformed officer spoke the words in a rush and he was kneading his hat with both hands. He seemed nervous, but didn't appear to be either very young or very inexperienced.

"Back up a few steps, Officer..." Martin stopped him, wanting to know exactly what was going on. They had been called out, saying that Linda Buckner had been spotted by Highway Patrol at a restop outside the city. But as it was often the case, reports came in piecemeal at first and they would get the full story only after arriving at the scene.

"Officer Glenn Degen, Highway Patrol. We were alerted to a possible drunk and disorderly in the area behind the kiosk at 11.47p.m. Found a woman unconscious between the dumpsters. EMS says she's going to make it. We recognized her from the APB," Degen explained as they arrived at the back of the store.

There wasn't much to see. The store was housed in a pale yellow square building with peeling paint. At the back of the store were two dumpsters left and right of the store's open back door. Only about ten meters behind the dumpsters, the terrain fell into a several-meter-deep ravine. The whole area was littered with trash; on the sides of the overfilled dumpsters stood trash bags and a box for the paper waste.

"She was right beside the dumpster, half hidden in the shrubs," Degen said as he pointed out the spot.

Calling the broken and dried remnants of a plant a shrub would be saying too much. The area was littered with empty beer and soda cans and food wrappers. The paramedics had done the rest to ruin all potential evidence. Danny couldn't even spot a drop of blood between the chaos and the bad lighting.

"I can't see any blood here." Martin voiced what Danny had been thinking. "Did you see where she was injured?"

"No, not really. The storeowner kept ranting on and then the paramedics were here. But this place was already in a mess when I arrived," Degen said defensively.

Martin shook his head. "Where's your partner?"

"Back with the car. Kind of..." Degen mumbled. "Our squad car was stolen. We noticed maybe two minutes before you got here. We were only gone for maybe ten minutes." Degen's composure was failing fast. "Ritter is calling it in now."

"That's just great!" Danny exclaimed. "What about witnesses? Have you taken any statements yet? Maybe somebody has seen something."

"Three witnesses are waiting inside the store. The owner who found her and two guys who say they saw suspicious activity." Degen winced. "They are pretty anxious to leave."

"I'll talk to them," Martin offered. "Go find your squad car." He nodded to Officer Degen, who seemed very eager to take care of the embarrassing car theft situation.

"I think I have an idea what happened to your car, Officer Degen," Danny said before Degen could leave. He pointed his flashlight forwards into the darkness in front of them. In the far distance, down the ravine about fifty meters away, something red was in the brushwork. It was too far out of this light's reach, but the street lamps reflected off the red paint. Linda Buckner drove a red Volvo.

"I think we should call for a tow to impound," Martin remarked with a sigh. "It's going to be a while out here."

oOo

Viralli's Truck Stop stocked pretty much everything one might need on the road in a room the size of Martin's living room. The shelves were packed tight and crammed on a table; in between lighters, ballpoint pens and batteries was the registers. Francis Viralli sat behind it, sipping from a can of soda.

"I don't get a lot of regulars around here. Some commuters, but most folks around here take the train. I'm pretty sure I have never seen her before." Viralli shrugged and took another sip of soda. He sounded bored as if a half naked woman amidst his trash was just another night in New York City.

Martin pulled out the search pictures of Richard Dane and Christine Buckner. "Have you seen any of them around here in the last few hours?"

Francis shook his head. "Don't think so." Viralli had barely looked at the pictures. His initial anger at the FBI closing his store for the night had cooled, but he wasn't too co-operative.

"Take another look." Martin was impatient. It was nearing 2 a.m. and he was tired and hungry. He could be at home right now, with Sam if they were still good after they had taken their champagne-fuelled header into bed.

Viralli reached into his pocked and pulled out a pair of spectacles. Peering through them, he took another look at the photograph.

"The guy. He was here. He bought a few candy bars and some milk. That was odd. Everyone buys coffee or soda. But that girl, I haven't seen her. I'm pretty sure he was in here along."

Martin smiled. "See, that wasn't that hard. What else do you remember? Did he say anything?"

"He wasn't a talker, but he looked at the maps." Francis pointed to the carousel of maps next to the counter. "I don't know which one," he added before Martin could ask. Martin finished his notes.

Martin walked outside. The CSU were still working the scene behind the store, but the red Volvo had been recovered from the ravine. Martin joined Danny, who was talking to the technician examining the car.

"...surprised that nobody saw anything. But I can tell you that this car went over the edge at a very slow speed. More after the accident reconstruction."

"It's not the accident that we're after. What's that? It looks like blood." Danny shone his flashlight into the back of the car. Only the front had been damaged by the crash, and the car was relatively clean. The dark spots in the grey seats stood out.

"Looks like it. CSU will go over everything at the lot," the technician explained.

Martin turned to Danny. "It's not a lot of blood. She might still be alive. The shop owner recognized Richard Dane, but didn't recall seeing Christine."

Danny tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat. " They spent all day in the city. Dane kidnapped them at least twelve hours ago. That's a lot of exposure when he could he driven straight north. We have been thinking that this all connects to the bank robbery somehow. So maybe Dane wanted Clyde's share of the robbery, or what was left of it. He threatens her daughter, they collect the loot, and then he dumps her."

"I don't know. I checked Buckner's financials. After his business failed, his money was gone. I don't get this case. A bunch of ordinary people got together, robbed a bank, shot several people and turned back to their normal lives. And now after ten years, it's suddenly coming apart?"

"Let's concentrate on the why later. Right now, the who is more important. The update on the APB is out and the hospital will call as soon as we can talk to Linda. A new press update might help; we need to talk to Van Doran," Danny suggested. There was fatigue swinging in his voice. He rubbed a hand over his face. It had been a very long day and there was no end in sight. But as long as the trail was hot, he couldn't step away--not when a child had been kidnapped.

"Van Doran won't be in until tomorrow morning. We could try to get something for the morning news, but it's too late for tomorrow's paper anyways. I guess we can start going through the calls from the tip line," Martin answered. "It's going to be the fruitcake fest of the year."

While Clyde Buckner's disappearance had gone unnoticed by the media, the disappearance of his wife and daughter had caught the attention of TV and the press alike and the FBI was deliberately using the citizen's interest to find potential witnesses. Crank calls and false sightings were a neccessary evil, but there was always a chance that the broadcasts would trigger the memory of an unwitting witness.

oOo

Although the FBI office was never deserted, it was considerably quieter at night. Martin and Danny had divided the stack of phone transcripts from the tip hotline. Danny stood at the white board, sticking little dots to the locations where Linda and her daughter had been sighted. Most of them were all over the city, none of the very likely.

"I have something here that sounds legit," Martin said, looking up from his pile of transcripts. "Someone saw Linda Buckner with a redheaded man outside of Self-Shelf in Queens. The news only mentioned Linda and Christine." This could be it, the vital lead to unravel one of the mysteries of the case. A new wave of excitement filled the two agents, the energy that comes with renewed hope.

Danny briefly studied the map he'd made. "There were two other sightings in Queens along the same six blocks. What do you say we find out if Self-Shelf is open 24 hours?"

"Everything in this city is open 24 hours," Martin joked and reached under his desk for the yellow pages. Flipping through the thick, well-thumbed book, he retrieved the number within ten minutes.

oOo

Self-Shelf was on the low rent end of the scale. Aside from a pimple-faced teenager who looked not a day over fifteen manning an empty office facing the street, the TV was blaring an action movie when Danny and Martin walked in.

"Evening. Your key, please." The teen tore himself away from the TV for a second.

"We're with the FBI." Martin showed his badge, even though the teen wasn't looking. "You rent any storage space to Clyde Buckner?"

"Yeah, his wife came in earlier today," he replied to the agents' surprise. He pointed to the sign-in sheet.

Indeed, Linda Buckner had signed in at 4.15 p.m..

"Was she here alone?" Danny asked.

"No, she was her with a kid and her husband," the teen replied, finally turning the TV to mute as the conversation seemed to catch his interest after all. "What she done?"

"We need to see the space she rented," Martin said firmly. They had no warrant. Weighing the options, getting to the storage unit had taken precedent over calling the judge covering night court.

They were in luck. The attendant didn't care about the legalities of their actions.

"It's number 106. Through the door back here. Here's the key." The teen handed Martin the key to Linda's space. "My boss is going to kill me if she's storing a stiff in there. Can't store perishables at Self-Shelf," the teen quipped.

"Thanks. We'll return the key later." They walked through the back door out into the yard.

Storage shed 106 was in the fourth row of units. Martin unlocked the gate and they led themselves in. They had expected an empty shed, but the garage-sized space was almost half filled with moving boxes and old furniture. Most of the items hadn't been touched in a long time; a thick layer of dust coated most of the objects.

"That looks like a case for a gun." Danny gravitated towards a black plastic case. "And it's been recently touched." He opened it. The depression in the foam was characteristic of a large automatic weapon. Danny recognised the shape immediately.

"There is a MAC-10 missing. Eric Dane was shot with a MAC-10. We need to get another look at the sign-in sheet," Martin confirmed darkly. They had uncovered another piece of the puzzle and perhaps solved a murder, but without knowing the driving force behind the actions, the answer gave them little satisfaction.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

"Megan, come in. I hadn't expected you." Sam greeted her long-time friend with a smile.

"I'm sorry to drop in on you unannounced, but…" Megan began hesitantly, but Sam pulled her inside.

"Let's sit down." Sam waved over to the couch. She was glad for the visit. An evening without work had left her longing for something meaningful to do besides sitting on the couch and watching TV. "I can't really offer something to eat, but I have some beer sitting in the fridge."

"That's fine with me. I have never been much of a cook myself." Megan sat down on the couch, placing her hand bag on the floor next to her.

"So I guess neither of us has changed in that respect. I still think the microwave is a modern miracle." Sam laughed and opened the refrigerator. "Here, one for you, one for me. There are more where those came from." Sam stretched out on the couch next to Megan.

"Sam, do you recall the good old days? When we had no idea about what's really going on?" Megan said with a sigh after she had taken a long sip from her bottle of beer.

"Sure, we were young and stupid." Sam replied lightly. She had done too much thinking about the past in the last twenty-four hours.

"You're probably right." Megan admitted, subdued. Sam looked at her. Megan seemed to have expected a different reaction from her.

"What's going on, Megan?" Sam put down her bottle of beer. She could tell her friend was struggling with something. They weren't as close as they had once been, but she could still read the other woman well.

"I guess I have been thinking too much. About how things were and how things could have been. When we grew up, we couldn't wait to get away from home. We thought everything would be better in the city. We thought we'd finally be free." Megan paused and took a drink from her beer. "But freedom is only as good as what you make of it."

"Deep thoughts. It's about Eric's murder, isn't it?"

"Not just him. We made a pact. We would all meet up in the city once we finished high-school back home in Red Sun. My first apartment was two rooms, no kitchen shared with four other people. I had no money, no job, I hated New York. I was about to get on a bus and go back to Red Sun when Eric and Richard got me a room in their apartment." Megan rubbed her hands together. "I can't believe that Eric is dead and Clyde is missing. They are my friends. There was a time when I couldn't imagine spending a day without them." There was regret in Megan's voice, but Sam wasn't sure what she was trying to tell her. She got the feeling that Megan knew more about what had been going her friends' lives ten years ago then she had previously told her. She might even know about the robbery and the disappearance of Ryan Kensington.

"To be honest, I haven't spoken to any of them since I divorced Clyde and I think it has been for the best. I got out when it was almost too late." Sam admitted and watched Megan's reaction carefully. If she knew about the robbery, then she no doubt knew about her involvement as well.

"Not all of us got out in time. Eric's death brings back a lot of memories. Memories of a different time. We were as you said young and stupid. And in love. I was in love. I even thought I was going to marry him. I don't think I ever told you."

"No, you haven't." Sam tried to recall who Megan had been dating at the time. Megan had always been the serious one, the one with the good job in the city, the one who knew what she wanted with her life.

"I have never told anyone about him. Ryan was engaged to another woman. We were meeting behind her back. He kept telling me that he would break up with her and that we would get together. I was stupid enough to believe him, but he was never going to break up with his girlfriend. She was paying rent, his clothes, even putting food in his fridge."

"You were in love with Ryan Kensington?" Sam asked. Megan nodded, confirming Sam's suspicions.

"My team at the FBI has re-opened the case of his disappearance. You did know that he went missing ten years ago?"

"Not immediately, I didn't. Ryan and I broke up before. His fiancée, Rodnina found out about us. Ryan chose her over me. Rodnina called me a few weeks after we broke up. She was out of her mind, accusing me of taking Ryan away from her; I finally figured out that she thought Ryan and I had run off together, to somewhere in Asia. I almost wish I had." Megan told Sam. Samantha wasn't sure what to believe. Megan's story presented an interesting alternative to the robbery scenario. Maybe Ryan's disappearance hadn't been related to the bank robbery after all, but to a love affair.

"When did you see Ryan for the last time?" Samantha asked, still thinking about Ryan's connection to the robbery. Her beer was long forgotten now.

Megan hung her head. "August 4th, 1994. But we had broken up back in March, when his fiancée found out. Ryan, he wanted it to end, but we both couldn't stay away from each other. We knew we had to stop seeing each other. We both had enough other things on our minds that summer."

Sam frowned. When Martin had phoned her earlier, he had said that Ryan had gone missing in August 1994. If Megan was still seeing him, how could she not have known that he went missing that same month? Sam wanted to ask Megan what had happened that day between them, but she was afraid that Megan might not tell the truth if her questions were too intrusive. Megan had come to visit a friend.

"He is dead." Megan said suddenly. "Ryan is dead. He has been dead ever since I left him at the cabin. I should never have left him behind." Megan started to cry.

"Tell me, from the beginning. Please, Megan." Sam turned to touch Megan's shoulders softly. "We're friends, right. What happened at the cabin?"

Megan sniffled. "The cabin belonged to Rodnina's family, but they never went there. Rodnina gave Ryan the key in case he wanted to spend some time away from the city. Ryan needed everything to be quiet when he worked on the computer. After a while, we got the idea to go up to the cabin, especially when Rodnina was away on one of her modelling jobs. We didn't want to go to his apartment, there the doorman would see us and someone was bound to tell Rodnina. On that day in August, Ryan called me in the morning at work. He wanted to meet in the cabin, after dinner. He said he had something important to talk about. I was still very much in love with him and agreed to meet him there. I came to the cabin around 9 p.m. Ryan and I got into an argument, I drove home, back to the city around midnight. That is the last I ever saw Ryan." Megan seemed to have recovered some of her composure. She straightened up and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

"I'm so sorry, Megan. We don't know much yet. It's still early." Samantha didn't know what else to say. As long as Megan was holding out on her, she didn't feel she could trust her.

"That's crap and you know it." Megan snapped.

"You are right. I forgot for a second that you are a cop." A smile ghosted over Sam's lips. "We haven't found any trace of Ryan past early August '94. Nothing of the usual, driver's licence, taxes, credit cards. No activity on any of them in the past ten years. We are looking into the possibility that Ryan left the country."

"Singapore, I know. Rodnina said something like that." Megan nodded. "So basically Ryan is either dead in New York City or alive in Asia and either way it is impossible to find him."

"You know how this plays. We can't catch a criminal across the Mexican border, much less find a missing person somewhere in Asia. Especially if Ryan wanted to disappear. What did you argue about that day?"

"Ryan…Ryan had gotten mixed up with something. That's what we fought about. But it had nothing to do with his disappearance." Megan at first hesitated, but then she seemed sure.

Sam wasn't sure what to do, pretend that she had no idea what Ryan and her ex-husband had been up to in the unlikely case that Megan really didn't know the details of her involvement, or just come out and potentially ruin her career and a friendship of ten years.

"Megan, you have to tell me what you know." Samantha turned to look her once-best friend directly in the eye. "Please tell me what happened to Ryan."

"I saw something, the night after I left him at the cabin. I had to turn back on the way because I had forgotten my handbag inside; in it were my wallet and my driver's license. I was on the road uphill from the cabin when I saw someone in the garden. It looked like they were digging a hole in the backyard of the cabin. I turned around and drove back to the city."

Sam was silent for a moment. It could have happened that way. In theory anyways. They didn't have a lot of facts at the moment.

"What kind of car did Ryan have at the time?" Samantha asked, wondering how Ryan who supposedly had left on foot had gotten to the cabin by car and then had vanished along with his car never to be seen again.

"A Ford Capri. It was an older car. Ryan had just bought their apartment after he broke up with me. Even though, he had sworn to get rid of the car once he came into some money." That was Sam curious. Robbing a bank was also a way to come into money. Martin had told her that according to his fiancée Ryan been quite wealthy, whereas Megan claimed he had been living off the other woman at least in the beginning of their relationship. "Before you ask, I have never seen the car since Ryan disappeared, but I'm certain that he took his car when he came to meet me at the cabin. I'm sure you looked into this already."

"Actually I'm not sure anyone traced the car. I hadn't heard that Ryan's car was missing as well. We assumed he disappeared on foot." Sam shrugged, trying to download her surprise at the series of revelations unfolding.

"He had it in a hired space in the city. Rodnina probably paid the rent on that as well." Megan sighed. "She paid for nearly everything and he felt so obligated to her, always, even when he was with me."

"So, what changed after Ryan had some money of his own?"

"Nothing really, we had already broken up by then. He was going to stay with her. They bought their apartment together when they had the chance. He was going to stay with her. Rodnina was a paranoid as ever. Ryan was unemployed for most of summer '94 and every time he went out looking for work or going to an interview, she thought he was going to see another woman. He told me that she always had to be in control, she even set up job interview for him at places he would never want to work." Megan shook her head. "She was suffocating him."

"Was that what the argument was about the last time you saw him? Did you want him to leave Rodnina?" Sam asked, and it came out harsher than she had intended.

Megan was defensive. "Sam, I'm not some perp. I came here to talk, not to be yelled at or interrogated." She got up from the couch and started walking towards the door. Sam followed her.

"Megan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I think we are just both a little too close to what's been happening to last few days. It has brought back memories, not just for you. Let's sit back down. How about I order us some take-out? It's too late to find a decent meal even in this city." Sam forced a smile as she led Megan back to the couch.

"I have to go there. I have to be sure." Megan shook Sam's grip loose.

"Why? Where do you need to go?" Sam didn't understand.

"The cabin. I need to know if Ryan is really buried out there, I need to know if this is all my fault.

"You can't drive now. I can send a team up there first thing tomorrow morning." Sam tried to calm her friend down. It wasn't working. Megan turned and grabbed her by the arms.

"Are you sure that is what you want to do, Sam? They are going to ask questions. Ten years is a long time, we might have changed, but it doesn't change what we did." In that moment Sam knew what she had subconsciously struggled with ever since she had pulled Megan's file the day after Eric's body had been discovered.

"You were the fifth person in the robbery." Sam whispered.

oOo

Martin watched over the pale pre-dawn streets from the twelfths floor window of the hospital. The Styrofoam cup in his hand held a lukewarm coffee he had gotten from a machine down the corridor two hours ago. It seemed strange to Martin how quiet it was in this section of the trauma ward. He had expected nurse running around the corridors and doors never quite shutting all hours day and night, but this far from the emergency room, there was a semblance of peace in the spacious waiting area.

Danny suppressed a yawn. It was unlikely that he would get any sleep that night. The big red clock on the corner wall showed the time as 4.17 a.m. Too late to go the bed, he thought. His last meal seemed eons ago. He had been running on nervous energy and caffeine all night. Another cup would just make him jumpy. Danny didn't understand how Martin could drink cup after cup and still hold a pen. He yawned.

It was 4.43 a.m. when Dr. Allesandro Cortez found the two agents sitting in brown armchairs, waiting. Suits and ties were a rare sight for Dr. Cortez. He had been expecting the police.

"I assume you are the detectives." Allesandro stuck out a hand in greeting.

"Actually we are with the FBI." The taller one replied and showed him his ID. "I'm Agent Taylor, this is Agent Fitzgerald." Taylor indicated the other man, who had also gotten up from the armchair.

"Mrs. Buckner's injuries are minor. She suffered abrasions to her knees, elbows and hands, most likely from a fall. She has contusions on her neck and her trachea is most likely bruised."

"Did she say anything? How it happened?"

"She gave her name, nothing else. But I can tell you, someone tried to strangle this woman."

"Can we talk to her?" Taylor asked with an eagerness that made Allessandro wonder what the woman had done. She had looked innocent in a normal, suburban way, but they all did.

"Yes, but I already asked her if he wanted to press charges, she said she didn't. We'll let her go in the morning." Allessandro had stopped worrying about helping those who didn't want his help. You can only save those who want to be saved.

oOo

Allessandro led Martin and Danny to the bed where Linda Buckner was resting. Curtain gave them only a little privacy and there was hardly any room for them both to stand, but it would have to do.

Linda was wide awake in her bed. Her eyes immediately settled on them with curiosity and a trace of fear, but she kept her expression neutral.

"Mrs. Buckner, we have met before. We are still I investigating your husband's disappearance and we believe that this incident might be related. So, anything you can tell us might help?"

Linda closed her eyes for a moment. "It was nothing. Just a little fun that got out of control. I don't want to talk about it." Her voice was hoarse and she was almost whispering, but there was still confidence in her words.

Danny didn't believe her for a second, but he wanted to hear her story. "We need to know. Please what happened?"

"I went out to this bar, I met a guy. You can imagine the rest." Linda looked down as if ashamed. Danny wondered whether there was any truth to her story. Maybe Linda was embarrassed about lying to them.

"This guy, what's his name?" Martin asked.

"Please, it was a one-night stand. He said his name was Brian. Maybe it's true, maybe it isn't." If Linda had any emotion towards the man who had supposedly tried to choke her, she didn't show it. Her whole manner seemed cool and detached, but maybe it was the shock. Danny had seen just about every reaction when questioning victims. Some were hysterical, hardly able to speak a word; others were detached, unable to feel anything.

"And the name of the bar?"

"NaNu. I think. First time I have ever been there. I never went behind Clyde's back."

Danny and Martin looked at each other. The story was pitiful, but not impossible. There were just a lot of holes to fill.

"Where was your daughter while you went out to a bar?" Danny remained friendly and casual, hoping that Linda's concern for her daughter would get the better for her.

Linda remained firm however. "I sent her to my cousin in Jersey City. It's better for her to be away with all this going on. I will write to address down for you." She took Danny's note block.

"We had a look at your house again. We found a bullet hole in the wall of your living room. Do you have any idea how that got there?" Martin asked.

"I have no idea." Linda crossed her arms. "It's 5 a.m., I'd appreciate if you'd let me rest."

"We'll be in touch later." Danny pocketed his note block.

oOo

"I just don't think there is any point in checking this place out. It's a lie, we know what happened. We even found the car." Martin climbed out of the car across the street of The NaNu. The City had started to awake, on the streets definitely, as they had been caught in the early morning rush our bon their way to the bar. The drive had taken them nearly forty-five minutes. But the street in front the The NaNu was still fast asleep.

"I don't think we can get anyone in here at this hour." Danny walked down the three steps to the entrance which was on a lower level than the street. To their surprise, there was still noise coming from inside. It didn't sound like any business was still going on, but something was moving behind the black and white doors.

Martin knocked against the doors with force.

"FBI, open up."

Almost a minute later, a middle aged man, who looked like he had had a long night, opened the door.

"What the hell? Who called you? First the police, now the FBI?" He leaned down on the broom he was holding. He seemed more than just a little drunk.

"What did the police want?"

"Asked about a guy. This guy who killed those women." The man sounded like it was obvious.

Martin raised an eyebrow. They had stumbled into another case entirely.

"Let's go inside and you tell us the entire story. We are also looking for a guy." Danny smiled and they followed the man inside the darkened bar.

oOo

Jack stared at the red changing digits of the radio alarm clock. He had been watching the time pass for the past twenty-three minutes. It was still almost half-an hour until the alarm would go off and awaken Maria hundreds of miles away. She would be busy getting the girls ready for school and they would keep up their civil pretences like always, but for the first time Jack didn't know what to say to his wife. He had never wasted a second when it came to apologizing about coming home late when he had been with Sam after work. The lies had come easy to him. Had Maria ever lied to him? Jack wasn't sure. He had respected her work and never asked question, only to find out he knew nothing at all about how his wife spent her days. Did they see each other in the lunch breaks, or sneak out after work? Jack didn't want to think about Maria and her face-less lover, but the questions snuck into his thoughts against his will even as he was across the country.

If Sam was already awake? It was early in New York City, but he knew what it was like to be in the middle of an investigation. Everything took second place to the search for a missing person. The first forty-eight hours were crucial, after that most remained missing.

Jack sat up and reached for his mobile phone and hit speed-dial one.

His call went straight to voice mail. Jack didn't leave a message. He wanted to talk to Sam in person. Jack got up, slightly worried. He felt cut off being across the country from his team, away from the main investigation. He could have sent someone else to Washington, as the team leader, he got to delegate. But Jack had to admit he had been glad to get away from the city. Even if it was only for a day or two. And there was of course the investigation. He couldn't protect Sam from the past, what was done was done. All he could do was helping her close that chapter of her life for good.


	9. Chapter 9

"I knew this call would come sometime." Ryan Kensington's mother was younger than Vivian had expected. She couldn't have been older than eighteen when she had her son. She was a petite woman, but aside from her size, she bore a striking resemblance to Ryan's fiancée. Her deep copper hair was showing the first streaks of grey, but her long straight hair, the delicate features and the grey eyes mirrored her son's fiancée.

"Thank you for coming in on such short notice, Mrs Kensington. Just to clear this up, when was the last time you saw or spoke to your son?" Vivian asked, not exactly clear what the woman had meant when she had expected their call.

"I remember exactly. It was August 4th, 1994. He was leaving for Singapore the next day. I was so proud of him. You know, he was the first member of our family to leave the country. I work the register in a drug store. We haven't been to college, me and Ryan's father. Ryan did so well for himself." His mother answered.

Vivian picked up on the evasiveness. Things didn't add up. A mother who loved her son and hadn't spoken to her son in ten years without going to the police?

She had checked. Ryan Kensington had not been reported missing to the NYPD or to the American embassy in Singapore.

"What did you talk about during that phone call? Every detail might be important." Vivian encouraged her. Right now they needed information to located Kensington, if he was really alive and well somewhere in the world.

"Ryan just called to say that he was leaving the next day. The fifth. His flight was going early in the morning, so he called me in the evening. He did tell me that his fiancée was going to join him in Singapore in a few weeks, as soon as she could sell her apartment in the City." Chandra Kensington recalled sadly. "She called later, once. It was just before Christmas, I think. I couldn't really understand her. I think she was calling from somewhere very noisy. She was very upset. But the call got cut off before she could tell me what had happened. I called her apartment, but no one was there. Is Rodnina all right?" Chandra asked with concern.

Vivian wasn't sure what to make of the question. For someone how hadn't done anything to find her son for ten years, Chandra Kensington display in inordinate amount of maternal concern.

"We have spoken to her and she is all right as far as we can tell. Did she and your son speak about concrete plans to marry?" Vivian asked. She was curious what else Rodnina had not told her.

"Yes, of course. They wanted to marry next spring. They didn't have a date set yet, but they were sure about it. At first they wanted to get married in 1994, but when Ryan lost his job at the power company, they decided to get on the dry again before they started their family. They would have made such wonderful parents." Chandra was on the verge of tears.

"They spoke about having children?" Vivian was getting an entirely different story about the young couple than from the younger woman.

"Ryan wanted kids. Rodnina never said. I think she wanted to wait some more. She needed her looks. Rodnina was modelling for Cyd Q, that Manhattan designer. She wasn't famous or anything, but she was hoping for a breakthrough." Chandra told her.

Vivian had heard of the eccentric designer who had had fifteen minutes of fame in the early 90ies, by dressing up as slave girls. Once fame had faded Cyd Q had moved back to his native Australia, vanishing from public view.

"One last question, then you can leave. Did your son ever speak about having money troubles?" Vivian asked.

"No, never. He even loaned me 5 000$ dollars when a water pipe broke in my kitchen, ruining the carpet. I didn't need half as much to replace the damages, but he told me to get some new things. He was earning good money." Chandra explained.

Perhaps too good money while being unemployed barely after out of college. Five grand were a lot of money. What Chandra had said was only confirming her suspicions that Ryan was the fourth man. He hadn't held a gun, but he was an accessory to robbery, attempted murder, murder and sabotage. Some ambitious DA might even call it domestic terrorism. Ryan had a good reason not to be found.

Vivian thanked Chandra Kensington for her time and patience ins spite of the unanswered questions still lingering between them, before she returned to the main office.

On her desk was the fax from the state department she had been waiting for. She picked up the page and scanned it eagerly. The state department confirmed that Ryan Kensington had applied for and been granted a work permit for Singapore on August 1st 1994. Since Danny and Martin had now more important matters on their hands, she had the doubtful pleasure of combing through all the airlines flying from New York to Singapore on August 5th. If Ryan had booked a flight and been on it, the matter was out of their hands.

oOo

Vivian checked her watch, and then checked the wall clock. It was sixteen past nine and there was no sign of Martin, Danny or Sam. She had already updated the whiteboard with her latest findings about the last days before Ryan Kensington's disappearance, and updated their map with the latest sightings of Richard Dane and his hostages. The wave of calls had started to taper off, mostly because the story had lost its novelty, not necessarily because Dane had probably left the area by this point. Public transport and airlines were keeping an eye out for the trio, but if Dane kept travelling by car, they needed a good portion of luck to get him. Their task would be a lot easier of they knew were Dane was headed. Straight for the border, then he certainly went north. Or did he plan to go elsewhere? Why had he taken Linda and her daughter hostage in the first place if all he wanted flee from prosecution? The answer had to be in the bank robbery. Vivian mentally sighed at the prospect of spending another day in front of a mountain of paperwork, trying to trace to money of the robbery. She should really get a forensic accountant on this, but Van Doren wouldn't assign additional personnel to this investigation without concrete proof that there was a link. The only link they had so far was the testimony of Jack's informant. Vivian hoped the DNA specialist would turn up a match by the end of the day, but they were back-logged and a ten year old crime didn't take precedent.

Vivian had pulled together the stack of tip line transcripts and retreated to her desk to try and search for the one vital witness when Martin and Danny walked into the office. They wore yesterday's clothes, slightly more rumpled. The smell of coffee and fried dough wafted over to her as Martin waved to greet her.

"What the hell have you been doing? It's almost ten; I have been here for two hours. Why haven't you turned on your cell-phones, I have been calling all morning, but none of you three were answering. Where is Sam?" Vivian vented her frustration over her co-workers and lack of progress of the investigation.

Martin said down the paper bag he was carrying and slumped down into the nearest chair. "We have been up all night chasing leads. Linda has turned up. She took a bit of a beating, someone tried to choke her, but she will be fine. She isn't talking. She claims her daughter is with a cousin in Jersey City. We haven't checked that out yet." Martin fished a doughnut out of the paper bag.

"Linda gave us a story about some guy named Brian assaulting her in a downtown club. We went to the club to check it out and there apparently has been a series of assaults and murders recently, so we might check with NYPD. Just in case." Danny added to what Martin had said.

"I thought we were clear on Richard Dane having abducted her and Linda. The scene at their house, several sightings all over the city. What makes you think this other story could be true? She could have read about it in the papers." Vivian asked.

"Yes, about the sightings. That's how we found their trace in the first place. We tracked them to a storage facility in Queens. Apparently Linda forgot to mention that Clyde had rented some space there. A woman fitting Linda description along with a girl and her red-headed husband went there yesterday. The clerk couldn't tell us if they had taken anything out though. We had a quick look around and found a gun casing for a MAC-10. Clyde doesn't legally own one." Martin explained between bites.

"Well you don't get a case if you buy it out of the back of a van. The assault weapons ban outlawed guns like the MAC-10 for civilians in '94, but before, he could have gotten in from anywhere. We need run checks on anyone connected to Clyde or the brothers, see if one of them purchased that gun. Although I assume the original robbery investigation looked into recent purchases of MAC-10 in the area around the bank as well." Vivian considered.

"We still don't know if the gun from the storage shed is the gun that was used in the robbery or yet another gun."

"How many guns can there be?" Danny tried to make light of the situation, but continued in a more serious tone. "Martin and I pulled the file belonging to the gun that fired the bullet in Linda's house. The New Years Eve robbery '99 was on a convenience store in Brooklyn. The robber walked into the store around 11.30 p.m., gun in hand and demanded money. The cashier, a thirty-two year old Korean immigrant complied, but apparently not quickly enough. The robber opened fire and killed the cashier with five shots; three more went into the wall. He ran without taking any cash. Jordan Ramos was arrested three hours later at the train station. He still had the victim's blood all over himself, but the gun had disappeared. Apparently Ramos was a serious junkie, so the investigator assumed he had already sold the gun for drugs. Ramos was indicted, but killed in a prison fight before trial."

"So the trail goes cold in '99. Ramos could have sold the gun to anyone. Who knows who many hands it passed through until Richard had it. We have nothing on the second gun yet." Vivian shook her head. "I don't think this is going to get us anywhere. The time to crime is notoriously short on those types of guns."

"I'm afraid it's not much better where the search for Richard and Christine is concerned. The last thing we know, they switched cars, possibly they are driving a police squad car, but they might have used the disguise to acquire a new car by now."

"Police car? How did this happen?" Vivian asked.

"Long story. We haven't given the news to the press yet. We didn't want to create a panic. But the APB is out on the car." Martin told her and went for his second doughnut.

"All right." Vivian nodded, processing the information. They know all the major players, but they had no evidence backing up their conclusions. Every bit of information only led to a new dead end and more unanswered questions. "As long as Christine is still missing, we have to consider this as abduction. We'll talk to Linda again, make it clear to her that we are her only chance to get her daughter back. And where is Sam?"

"I haven't seen her since yesterday." Martin shrugged.

"Me neither. Has the state department gotten back to you yet?" Danny asked.

"Yes, Ryan applied for and was granted a work permit for Singapore in August, four days before he disappeared. Customs should be able to tell us if he left the country." Vivian said. "But even if he didn't, he could be anywhere. The doorman of his apartment claimed that Ryan asked for a cab to the airport on the evening of August 4th, but he told his mother his flight was leaving on the 5th."

"So, we check all the flights leaving New York on the evening of August 4th. See if Ryan was on any of them." Danny suggested.

"Yeah, but is this even a case for us? There is no direct evidence of foul play. As far as we know he might be a fugitive." Martin considered. "Otherwise, it's not against the law to disappear. No one reported him missing. Not his mother and not his fiancée. I wonder why? We should take another crack at the fiancée." Martin frowned. "Anyone want the last doughnut?"

Danny and Vivian shook their heads.

"The fiancée, Rodnina didn't seem suspicious to me. She said she thought he had walked out on her for good and her parents were pressuring her to break off the relationship anyways." Vivian recalled. "The computer techs are working on the computer Ryan left behind in their apartment. It's been wiped, but that was in '94. There are a lot more sophisticated data recovery tools today. But tech is back-logged like everyone else these days. We won't get the results back before next week. We have no proven link between Ryan's disappearance and the kidnapping; it's not a priority case."

oOo

"You needed have dragged me out of my office in the middle of the day. I would have been glad to answer all your questions in my office. The least thing you could do is tell me what is going on?" Rodnina was not happy about having been summoned to the FBI office. But despite her bluster, her posture radiated control and calm.

"We have a couple more questions regarding Ryan Kensington." Martin told her. "You told Agent Johnson that your fiancée left your apartment to catch a flight to Singapore."

"That is correct. I have told you all I know. If Ryan was mixed up with something, I didn't know about it." Rodnina said angrily.

"Why? Did you suspect he was involved in illegal activities?" Martin asked. He was sure that Rodnina knew more than she was telling. She might not have wanted to know at the time, but something had to have given her a reason not to report her friend missing when he failed to contact her after a few weeks.

"Ryan had a few friends from before we meet, I didn't want them in our apartment after I caught them smoking pot during our New Years Party. I believed he had stopped seeing them, but maybe I was mistaken." Rodnina smiled. Martin was growing more and more convinced that Rodnina was hiding something.

"Have you ever seen any of these people?" Martin showed her pictures of Clyde, Eric, Richard and Linda.

"Not the woman, but the others, yes. But I already showed your partner photographs from the party. You should really talk to each other." Rodnina was smug. Martin decided he really didn't like her, but there was nothing to link her to Ryan's disappearance which might or might not be willingly.

"How was your relationship with Ryan?" Martin asked.

"We were planning to marry in spring the next year; I think that says it all." Rodnina crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Can I go now?"

"Not just yet. Ryan's mother told us that you had initially planned to marry in '94, and then you changed your mind. Why?"

"I'm sure Chandra has told you the same. We wanted to wait until Ryan found a new job. When he took the job with Kale, the move to Singapore took priority. We wanted to sort out everything there before we got married." Rodnina replied.

"Whose idea was it that Ryan move to Singapore alone for a while?"

"You make this sound like something completely different. He needed to start at his new job within ten days and I stayed behind to take care of our affairs."

"Affairs like selling your apartment? It is still listed in Ryan's name. You have been living there rent-free for ten years. In this city that means saving a lot of money." Martin tried to provoke her, but Rodnina refused to give anything away.

"Please. I didn't kill my fiancé over an apartment. You have probably checked my bank records. I work because I want to; otherwise I live on income from a trust fond."

"Then what was it that kept you from reporting that man you wanted to marry as missing?" Martin asked sharply.

Rodnina said nothing.

"One last thing. Could I borrow your scrap book?" Martin asked.

"If you must." Rodnina shrugged and got up.

oOo

Linda Buckner was just about to change into street clothes dressed when Danny and Martin entered the room. Another woman was standing at the window.

"It's you again." Linda sighed. "I have told you all I know."

"We have a few more questions, that's all. If you could excuse us for a few minutes?" Martin turned to the other woman. She nodded and left.

"She's my cousin." Linda explained.

"The same cousin who is taking care of Christine?" Martin asked.

"Yeah, that's her. Go ahead and ask her." Linda challenged.

"All right, I'll asked her." Martin agreed and slipped out the door.

Vivian sat down on a chair. "Are you ready to tell me what happened last night?"

"I have told you all I know."

"If that's what you want, Linda." Vivian nodded. "But what do you think Richard Dane will do with your daughter? He nearly killed you. He could easily kill a child."

"I was attacked by a man who called himself Brian. We are at a club, the NaNu. I had too much to drink." Linda persisted.

"You weren't drunk or drugged according to the blood test the hospital ran last night." Vivian remarked. "We know Richard stole a car at the same rest stop where he left you to die. He is not coming back and he has your daughter. What really happened?"

Linda looked down. "Richard came to the house. He wanted to know where the gun was. He threatened me with a gun. "

"Did he say which gun he was looking for?" Martin asked.

"No, he only always said 'the gun'. He said Clyde was supposed to have gotten rid of it. I told him that Clyde had a storage shed in Queens. Richard forced us to come along with us. When we got to the storage shed, the gun wasn't there. Richard really freaked out. I thought he was going to shoot us. It seemed like we were driving around for hours, but we never left the city. We were running out of gas and pulled over at a filling station. When Richard left the car to fill up, I tried to get away, but he caught me. I was hoping someone had seen us, but we kept driving and nothing happened." Linda broke off.

Vivian nodded. "Did Richard say anything about what he was planning?"

"He said he was going to find Clyde." Linda admitted. "I think he is going to kill him. He thinks Clyde killed his brother."

oOo

"Here is one for you." Megan handed Sam a cup of coffee. "Do you know how many traffic accidents are caused by fatigue?" Megan was leaning against Sam's car.

"A lot, I guess." Sam took a sip of her coffee, black, no sugar. "You want me to drive now?" Both women hadn't slept and the five hour drive was proving to be trying.

"Sure." Sam settled into the passenger seat. She was apprehensive about their trip to the cabin. It was pulling her deep into a world she had only briefly visited and wished she'd never return to. What she might find at the cabin frightened her, but it was too late to turn back.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 

Joanne Stone, previously Joanne Dane was a small woman with almost childlike features. She was dressed in simple blue jeans and a bright pink sweater. If she was surprised about a visit from the FBI, she didn't show it as she led Jack into her living room.

"I appreciate you coming all the way out here, Agent Malone, but frankly, I don't understand how I can help you. I already spoke to the police," Joanne said.

"You have spoken with the local police?"

"Yes, when they came to tell me that Eric was dead. They asked a few questions. I told them what I knew. That's why I was so surprised that the FBI is looking into this. It was a suicide, wasn't it?" Joanne seemed to have taken the death of her ex-husband in stride. Even if she hadn't been close to Eric Dane, she seemed very quick to point to suicide, especially since nothing about the murder suggested that Eric had taken his own life.

If Maria suddenly died, Jack couldn't imagine just moving on like nothing ever happened. They might not get along, but he still loved her.

"Agent Malone, can I offer you some tea or coffee perhaps?" Joanne interrupted his thoughts.

"Coffee, please," Jack replied absentmindedly. He was studying the myriad of family photos covering the wall above the couch. Even though Joanne and Eric had divorced in 1998, Joanne had apparently kept the pictures of her husband around. Their son, a boy very much resembling his father, featured in the majority of the photographs.

"I kept them up for Nate. He should know both his parent." Joanne appeared behind Jack. "Here's your coffee. It's only instant, I'm afraid. Why don't you sit down?"

Jack accepted the offer and sat down.

"You have custody of your son?"

"We share custody, but since Eric had gone back to school full time and was working at the supermarket, he hardly had time for Nate," Joanne told him.

"Did your husband have problems at work or at school?"

"None that I know of. Eric got along well with everybody. I already told all this to the police." Joanne was friendly but firm.

"You said you think your husband committed suicide. Why?" Jack finally asked.

"About three weeks ago, Eric was diagnosed with lymphoma, already at an advanced stage. The doctors gave him only a few weeks. He had been feeling sick for a while, but had been putting off getting seen to. Now, it was too late. He told me he was going to New York to do something he should have done a long time ago. When we said good-bye at the airport, I knew he was not planning on coming back," Joanne explained.

"You didn't stop him?" Jack asked. He couldn't image being able to stand by while someone he loved killed themself.

"Why should I have stopped him? Eric obviously needed to do this." Joanne pulled a strand of hair behind her ear. She seemed nervous. "I see you don't understand. I can assure you that I have nothing to do with Eric's death. He was murdered?"

Jack ignored her question. He wanted Joanne to tell him how much she knew. "Do you know any of Eric's friends or business partners in New York?"

"Eric had broken with his life in New York by the time we met. He had stopped seeing those people." Joanne still smiled, but there was force in her words. Jack was just not sure whom she was trying to convince, him or herself.

"About his old life, in New York, what do you know about it?" Jack tried again.

"We met at a meeting. We were both trying to leave the past behind us, but Eric was always trying to make up for something while we were married. He was a good father, but he was suffocating me and Nate. I think he has finally found the courage to fix whatever he has done," Joanne told Jack. Jack was starting to wonder whether she was deliberately trying to avoid his questions about Eric's past.

"Joanne, do you want us to find Eric's killers or not?" Jack took a harsh tone with Joanne. He was fairly certain she had had no part in her ex-husband's death, but he couldn't afford leaving the past buried.

Joanne nodded. "You are right. I do not want his killer to go free. But no one is served by digging up the past. You will only hurt people." Joanne didn't smile anymore.

"I don't think you understand. Your ex-husband is strong suspect in a murder ten years ago. We think he might have been murdered by an accomplice." Jack was growing angry at the woman stonewalling his investigation.

"Then he must have gone back to clear his conscience. The Eric I have known couldn't hurt anyone," Joanne declared.

oOo

Sam was exhausted. The sleepless night, the long drive and now the burning heat of the sun were wearing down on her. She was thirsty, and her legs ached as she followed Megan along the seemingly endless network of hiking trails. Megan had insisted they park in a public lot and the only one was almost three miles from the cabin.  
The area was heavily wooded, obscuring any sight beyond the trail. By Sam's calculations, they would have to reach the cabin any time now. The five hours on the road had given her time to clear up her thoughts. She was questioning the wisdom of coming to the cabin with Megan. The smart thing would have been to call ERT up there and wait at the office for the results.

Sam knew she would have to confess to her role, however small in the sum total of things. She would, after she did this. Megan would have to come clear as well. Sam didn't want to sell out her friend, but if she had to, she knew she would. She had made the choice and turned away from the life she had led when she had been eighteen and new to the city. She would talk to Megan first and give her a chance to turn herself in.

The cabin came into view as Sam and Megan rounded a bend. There was no car on the patch of gravel outside, and as Sam came closer she could see that the house and surrounding shrubs hadn't been cared for in a long time, probably not since Ryan's disappearance.

Sam felt for her pistol holster before she approached the door. She didn't know what to expect, but she was glad she had brought her gun. Megan next to her held her gun ready. Megan's nod was the signal and they rapidly but quietly slipped inside. Sam took the room to the right while Megan took the room at the end of the corridor.

With a single sweeping look, Sam took in the room. It was a combination of an open kitchen and living room. A table, four chairs, an oven and sink on one side, and a worn-looking couch and a glass table by the fireplace on the other side. Cuffed to the drainpipe with plastic cuffs was Christine Buckner. Sensing no immediate danger, Sam put her gun away and rushed over to the girl, who been watching her with frightened eyes.

"Christine. Christine, look at me." Sam kneeled to be on eye-level with the girl "My name is Samantha and I'm with the FBI. I'm going to take you home to your mother soon."

"He hit Mom." Christine said between sniffles.

"It's all right. Your Mom is fine. She will be very happy to have you back," Sam reassured her. "Can you keep your hand very still now? Can you do that?" Samantha only had her pocketknife, but it would have to do.

Trying to saw through the plastic cuffs was tedious. Christine was shifting anxiously and the pocketknife was ill-suited for the task. Suddenly, Sam heard the sound of a car pulling up front.

Panic washed over Sam. There was nowhere to hide and she couldn't leave the girl behind. Sam frantically tried to saw through the plastic tie, but it was fruitless. She heard a muffled voice, and then the sound of the door.

"Christine." Sam turned to the little girl. "Whatever happens now, I'm going to look out for you. Just remember that. Everything will be all right." Sam squeezed Christine's hand and the girl squeezed back.

Sam positioned herself in front of Christine and turned around just in time when a gunshot sounded nearby.

"Christine, can you put her hands over your ears?"

Christine nodded.

Sam pulled her gun and disengaged the safety. She had to make the choice between staying with Christine or finding Megan, who might be badly injured. Sam did what her training had taught her. She was going to play this one safe.

Sam carefully got to her feet and advanced towards the door, staying behind the doorway.

"Richard! It's Samantha Spade. I want to talk to you," Sam called out. She heard footsteps and then Richard replied.

"Sam? What do you want?"

"I want to help you. No one has to get hurt." Samantha hoped it wasn't too late for Megan yet.

"You shouldn't have come back. You and Megan are here to frame me. You think I killed all those people in the bank. Everyone else had a perfect life, so I'm the fall guy."

"I don't believe you killed anyone. I just want to make sure that everyone is all right. Is Megan all right?" Sam asked and quickly shot back a smile to Christine.

Richard didn't reply and she didn't hear him moving.

"Richard, is it all right if I check to see how Megan is doing? But first, why don't you let Christine go? She has nothing to do with any of this." Sam tried again. Sam wasn't sure how rational Richard was. The abduction had clearly taken some planning, but now he seemed aimless. A delusional man with a gun who might be very dangerous when he realized he was cornered.

Sam was almost through the plastic cuff with her pocketknife. "Christine can be outside while we talk about this. You can tell me what really happened."

One last pull and the plastic finally gave. Christine pulled her wrist close to her body, cradling it with her other arm.

"It's going to be all right," Sam whispered to the girl.

"It was Clyde who killed your brother, am I right?" Sam tried a different strategy. "Eric was the shooter in the bank, not you."

Richard remained silent. "You didn't do anything. It's not too late. You can still turn this around. Let Christine go and we can fix this," Sam pleaded. She didn't know whether Megan was dead or merely wounded, but her life and the life of a child depended on her words.

"How can you help me?" Richard finally asked. He sounded tired, not angry.

"Let Christine go and we will talk. I can help you and see that Clyde is punished for what he did to your brother."

"Christine can go, but you stay," Richard agreed.

Sam turned to the frightened Christine. "Listen to me. You get up and walk outside. Just go to the door and go outside. Go behind the car and sit down. I'll come for you." Sam intended to keep her promise. Christine got to her feet and hesitantly walked toward the door. She turned around to look back to Sam.

"Go, you'll be safe," Sam tried to reassure her, but her smile was forced. When Christine disappeared through the door and she heard no gunshots, just the sound of the door opening and closing, Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Detective Andrew Burton had been working homicide in New York City for twenty years. He had seen it all. Even more so than any long time New Yorker, he was accustomed to violent death, from the bizarre to the mundane. Eric Dane's death hadn't been a spectacular one.

"It was a robbery, that's what it looked like and that's what it was. Two shoots at close range, his pockets were turned inside out, his wallet, cash, keys, everything gone."

Danny turned the pages of the forensics report. There wasn't much to go on. Eric Dane had been found in an abandoned lot in Brooklyn, shot between midnight and one a.m. the previous night. Over one hundred items had been picked up from the lot amongst the empty soda cans, food wrappers, scrap metal and several vodka bottles. Even if the forensic analysis had begun, the results would still take a while. This was not a rush case.

"Were there any witnesses?" Danny asked and flipped forwards in the file to find the witness's statements. The section was considerably shorter than the evidence inventory.

"The usual. No one heard or saw anything. He was found by a guy wanting to take a leak. We passed his picture around the neighbourhood, but you know how it is, freaks from all over the world come here and get killed. Not that anyone needed to give him much help. You can read the pathology report. He was as good as dead."

Danny nodded. He had read the pathology report. It didn't help them very much. Who would risk killing a dying man when simply waiting another month would solve the problem? Unless the killer hadn't known that Eric was terminally ill. "Did you look into other crimes in the area?"

"What do you think we did? Sit on our hands because he was a junkie?" This was something Andrew Burton wasn't going to stand for. Not from a fed.

"Eric Dane was a user?" Danny heard this first the first time.

"You read the autopsy report. He had needle marks on his arms and legs, liver damage. The doc said he must have been using heavily for several years," Burton told Danny with a trace of satisfaction in his voice. Danny flipped back to the autopsy report. Indeed, the ME had found scarring, indicating past drug use, but the toxicological test had come back negative. He had just picked up the file on his way down to meet Detective Burton. Reading and walking at the same time, Danny hadn't had a chance to grasp all the details. Now he took a look at the toxicology report. The standard tests had come back negative, but no detailed investigation had been undertaken, the cause of death clearly being the gunshot wounds to his torso.

oOo

Martin's eyes were burning from a combination of lack of sleep and strain. He had been staring at a computer screen for three hours, scanning through hundreds of cases of unidentified corpses that had turned up within the tri-state area. If they were lucky, his body had been found close to New York, but it was possible that they would have to widen their search all over the country. Not knowing exact time or manner of death forced him to work with a very large number of possible matches. Martin had tried to narrow it down to victims whose time of death had been estimated between early 1995 and late 1993. There were still too many, and they hadn't been able to locate Ryan's dental records yet. They had his maternal DNA through his mother, but if the bones were too old or had been exposed for too long, they could forget about a DNA comparison.

"Martin." Danny walked up to his desk. "I think I might know why they robbed the bank in the first place. Drugs. The ME found that Eric Dane was a serious user. Drugs would explain the overkill in the bank," Danny considered. Slowly the pieces were coming together as they were gathering more and more information. At the moment, they only had circumstantial evidence. They had yet to find any physical links, such as DNA or a bullet, between their suspect and the robbery. But every piece of circumstantial evidence was piling on the next, building up a solid wall. Only the blood test would confirm that at last one of the Dane brothers had been in the bank at the time of the robbery.

"Are the DNA results back yet on Eric Dane?" Danny asked while he started to look for the forensic reports in one of the many boxes of files from the original robbery investigation.

"The lab said we'd get them today. What are you looking for?"

"All the reports from forensics. Do you recall if the robbery squad had any test done on the blood from the scene?" Danny sifted through the myriad of folders.

"I don't recall reading about that," Martin said and shook his head. "We finally got a reply from Customs. Ryan Kensington has never left the US. I'm going through unidentified murder victims right now, assuming he was murdered and his body was found." Martin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm getting to old for spending the nights chasing bad guys," Martin laughed. "I'm getting a cup of coffee. Do you want one?"

"No, thanks, I had enough caffeine in the last twenty-four hours to last me all week." Danny was only-half listening, his attention still on the files. He found what he had been looking for a few minutes later. The blood found at the crime scene in the bank had been subjected to tests and it had come back positive for heroin, as well as traces of cocaine.

oOo

If Rodnina Villeroy was upset, her appearance hadn't suffered for it. Her copper hair was done up in a sleek bun and she wore a form-fitting black dress, She had clearly had other plans for the day.

"Ms. Villeroy, where did you say you met Ryan Kensington?" Vivian asked.

"You never asked where I met Ryan. If I had, I would have told you. We met at Haven House, upstate." Rodnina was a little uncomfortable with the question.

"Haven House. You were both there during June of '93."

"What are you trying to imply?" Rodnina asked, obviously having decided on the offensive strategy.

"I believe you can tell us who else was at Haven House that summer?"

"I don't know. I haven't stayed in contact with anyone from that time."

"Your scrapbook proves otherwise. Eric Dane? Does the name ring any bells? You even invited him to your New Year's party?" Vivian listed the facts, trying to get Rodnina to admit that she had known the robbers, if not known of their criminal acts.

But Rodnina was not easily impressed. "Ryan wanted to invite his friends. I might have recognized someone from the clinic, but I don't think this is relevant to the disappearance of my fiancé. Or are you saying that this man, Eric Dane, had something to do with it?"

"I don't think this is going to work. Even if she knows about the robbery," Danny said to Martin. They were watching the interrogation from outside. After Danny had uncovered the link between Rodnina and Eric in the drug treatment program at Haven House a year before the robbery, Vivian had decided to take another crack at Rodnina. For a woman grieving over the loss of her fiancé, she had left suspiciously many details out when talking to the FBI. Vivian was convinced that even if she hadn't been an accomplice, she had at least known about the plan, if not helped to fund it.

"She knows we can't prove anything," Danny agreed. "Ten years is a long time. Sometimes I hate this job."

"Danny, there is something I wanted to talk to you about," Martin said.

Danny was a bit surprised, but he agreed. "Sure, let's walk." The interview was being recorded anyways and it didn't look like Vivian was making any progress.

"So, what is it?" Danny asked, as they had walked down the corridor and arrived in a waiting area at some vending machines. Martin was counting quarters for yet another cup of coffee.

"It's about Sam," Martin admitted, now inserting the quarters into the vending machine dispensing hot drinks.

"I'm not sure I'm qualified to speak on that subject," Danny said jokingly, but he sensed Martin was serious.

"I haven't been able to reach Sam since yesterday and she's been pretty preoccupied ever since we got on this case. I was wondering whether she has been talking to you. I'm worried about her," Martin asked, waiting for his coffee to drip into the plastic cup.

"She still isn't in?" Danny was stalling for time. He would hate to betray Sam's confidence, but he too was worried for her.

"No, and I can't reach her on her cell or her home phone," Martin said and frowned. "Something's wrong."

"She has had a though time. Jack sent her home yesterday," Danny told him.

"She hasn't called you since then, has she?"

"No, I haven't heard from her. That's odd."

"I'm going to drive over and check in on her, just to make sure that everything is all right," Martin decided. "It's not like we are buried in leads at the moment. Has Jack called from Washington yet?" Martin quickly downed the rest of his coffee.

"No, but he should be on his way back by now. It is probably another dead end," Danny mused. Without any specific leads at the moment, he would go back to the pile. Although the theft of the squad car had not been published, the alert had been given out to all police stations. So far, with no results. Meanwhile, there were still reports of the odd sightings of Richard Dane and the missing Christine. Every lead had to be chased down or discredited.

oOo

"Richard, do you want to tell me what really happened?" Richard had been silent for several minutes, since he had agreed to let Christine go unharmed.

"Clyde, he killed Eric. He killed my brother!" Richard screamed. "He killed my brother and he is going to get away with it!"

"No, he isn't. I'm going to see to it that he is punished for what he did to Eric." Sam put as much confidence in her voice as she could. "Why did Eric have to die?"

"Eric didn't deserve to die, but he could never forget. He tried so hard. He had a wife, a son, a real family. He tried to get away from it all, but in reality, he couldn't forget." Richard sounded close to tears, desperate. Sam prayed that he wasn't disintegrating to the point of suicide. She needed him rational, if she had any chance of getting out of this alive and saving Megan.

"Eric was the shooter in the bank. That was what he couldn't forget."

A gunshot exploded seconds after Sam had finished speaking. A muted thump followed, then silence. Sam held her breath, cold fear holding her hostage, when suddenly heavy footfalls came from the corridor, slow and plodding. Megan staggered into the room, gun into her left hand, the right side of her jacket and blouse soaked in blood. Blood was dripping off her right hand.

"Megan, are you all right?" Sam realised how stupid the question was the moment she had spoken the words. "Megan, come on, sit down." Sam reached for her mobile phone. "I'm going to call for help."

"You can't." Megan raised the gun. Her arm was shaking, but she was pointing it straight at Sam. "If you call them now, it will all be over. The last ten years, it will have been for nothing. A copper and a fed in prison, have you thought about that? Do you have any idea what they'll do to us in there?" Megan was swaying slightly.

"Megan," Sam pleaded. "You need a doctor. Please, let me call an ambulance."

"No." Megan shook her head emphatically.

"You shot Richard in self-defence. We'll sort it out." Sam promised. "Let's get to the car, then. We can drive to a hospital." Sam improvised. Megan wasn't going to remain on her feet much longer, but she was had a gun and not much to lose.

"Gunshot wounds have to be reported," Megan laughed almost hysterically. "We'll be old women when we get out."

"Do you want to die instead?" Sam challenged her, hoping the provoke her just enough to get her to see that there was no way out.

"No," Megan replied in a small voice. "I'm tired." As if in slow motion, Megan starting to crumble.

Sam rushed towards her, catching her before she hit the ground. She safely put away Megan's pistol, before she dialled 911.

oOo

Vivian was almost relieved when Danny pulled her out of her interrogation with Rodnina. Any news of progress now would be good news. She was getting nowhere with her. All the circumstantial evidence they had found so far pointed towards Ryan having been murdered, but there was absolutely no convincing proof that he was dead, much less that Rodnina had been involved.

"Danny, what is it?" Vivian asked.

"Sam just called. You won't believe it. She has talked to Megan Tanner, a cop with NYPD and Ryan Kensington's secret lover in 1994. They were having an affair."

"And, did Rodnina know about it?"

"According to her, she did. They used to sneak up together to a cabin in New Jersey, and on the day Ryan disappeared Rodnina followed them." Danny relayed what Sam had told him in a hasty phone call.

"Well, let's see what Rodnina has to say about the other woman in her fiancé's life," Vivian replied. "Is Sam all right?" She turned around before going back into the interrogation room.

"I'm not sure. She sounded pretty upset on the phone. Apparently, she is in New Jersey at the moment. I don't know what's going on, so I contacted the local field office." There was worry on Danny's face. Sam had sounded upset and confused on the phone, but she had assured him that she was all right. Jack wouldn't be happy when he heard that Sam hadn't gone out on her own, but maybe that was what she had needed to do.

oOo

Vivian put down a can of diet soda in front of Rodnina. They had taken a break while Vivian had talked to Danny, but now, they had enough to arrest Rodnina.

"What happened on August 5th 1994?" Vivian asked.

"Ryan packed his suitcase and walked out the door. He was planning to take a flight to Singapore," Rodnina repeated her earlier statement.

"We know, Rodnina. Ryan wasn't faithful. He was having an affair with a woman called Megan Tanner. He met her the night he disappeared. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"I wanted to know what he was doing with her that he couldn't do with me. I wanted Ryan to be happy. I would have done anything for him, but apparently I was never enough for him." Rodnina was bitter.

"You knew she was an old girlfriend of his," Vivian said. "They grew up in the same town."

"I didn't know at first, not until I made the scrapbook after Ryan was gone. I found his high school yearbook in his room. Her name was in there."

"How did you know her name?" Vivian asked. Rodnina had woven a web of lies for the past ten years, but now she was starting to trip.

"I listened to Ryan talk to her on the phone. I called her from our apartment when he thought I was still asleep. I realised he only wanted me for my money."

"You bought an apartment together. Did you think Ryan would stay with you if you shared a home?" Vivian wanted to understand Rodnina. The first time she had talked to her, she had been completely convinced of her genuine grief. Maybe part of her really was grieving for Ryan.

"There was a time when we were talking about getting married. That's when we got engaged. It was right after a visit to my parents. I hoped he was going to realise how much better his life would be with me. But I could never tell. When he still had a job, he was always working overtime and on the weekends he was working on his projects. It didn't take me long to realise that he was meeting her at the cabin. I followed them a few times."

"What was different the night Ryan was supposed to leave for Singapore?" Vivian asked gently.

"He didn't even pretend he was going to Singapore. He returned the tickets for part of the cash. The airline called me about it. I knew he wasn't going to take the job, but I didn't think he'd dare to go to the cabin." The anger was still visible on Rodnina's face, breaking her calm facade for the first time during the interview.

"You followed Ryan and you found him and Megan at the cabin that night. You waited until Megan left and confronted Ryan. Is that what happened?" Vivian asked.

"Ryan was going to leave me. He told me that he loved her, not me."

oOo

The blood kept clinging to her fingers and nails. She couldn't quite seem to get rid of it. Her clothes were ruined anyways. They were smeared where she had wiped her bloody hands, and she had used her blouse in attempt to staunch the flow of blood from Megan's wound.

The ambulance had taken almost twenty minutes to arrive. Sam had thought Megan wouldn't last that long when she had slipped into unconsciousness fast after collapsing. But Megan was still alive when help had arrived. Now Sam could only wait. The paramedics had insisted on taking her to the hospital as well, but a cursory exam had revealed that she was fine and none of the blood on her clothes and hands was her own. After two cups of coffee, Sam had even started to feel warm again. It was only the numbness she couldn't shake. It was all out now, but she couldn't quite grasp that yet. Sam shook her head. She needed some fresh air, but she wanted to be there when there was news about Megan. She felt sorry for Megan. She had always thought they were a lot alike. They had both come from similar backgrounds and worked their way up in law enforcement. Sam knew Megan, not that well, but she wasn't a bad person. Megan didn't deserve to go down for this alone. Sam longed to talk to someone--someone who wasn't holding a gun to her head. She fished in her wallet for a few quarters and went to the public telephone down the hallway.

oOo

Jack finally reached the hospital. Sam's call had reached him shortly after he had landed in New York.

_Jack, I need to see you._

He had heard in her voice that something was very wrong. He still didn't know the full story of what had happened, but Sam had reassured him that she was all right. While Jack was relieved, he wasn't convinced. She might be all right physically; he hadn't heard her sound this scared since the bookstore.

_Can you come to get me? Please._

Sam had sounded wounded, hurt. Jack hated to see her hurt and he hated how it tore at him. He had a wife and two wonderful daughters, but he couldn't stop caring about Sam.

Jack took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to wait for the elevator, which was stopped seven stories further up. He spotted Sam in a waiting area from the other end of a hallway, head lowered, looking much smaller than she really was. Only when he came closer, he saw how much blood was on her clothes. It had already tried to a brown-red, copper colour.

"Sam," Jack said softly.

Sam looked up. Jack could tell she had cried.

"Thanks, thanks for coming." Sam got up and gave him a quick hug. Jack could feel her tremble as they touched.

"Sam." Jack held her shoulders softly. "Are you all right? You are shaking."

Sam shook her head. "No, I'm not all right. I just want this to be over."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

"You have a degree in criminal justice."

The investigative committee was comprised of three agents, two of them in their late fifties and a third who looked like he should still be in college. They were towering on one side of the table; Sam was sitting on the other. With stern faces, they seemed to register every minute reaction. "Did you ever find a conflict of conscience considering your past involvement in criminal activities?"

Sam didn't know what to say. She could answer questions about what had happened. Those were the easy questions. But by now, the internal investigation had moved into a territory she was decidedly uncomfortable with.

"Please answer the questions, Agent Spade," the investigator prompted her.

"I think, I never really thought about it…" Sam started.

"That was somewhat short-sighted. You were prepared to lie about your past."

"I didn't have any knowing involvement in any criminal activities."

"That was confirmed by the lie detector test, which you passed. But you should know that ignorance is no protection from the law. You might not have had intent, but you were an accessory," The chair of the committee paused. "However it is not for this committee to engage in criminal prosecution. That will be handled by the district attorney. However we are trying to determine if your involvement had any effect on your service to the Bureau. "

"The fact that you were involved in the investigation regarding the disappearance of your former husband is strictly against FBI protocol. However, Agent Malone informed us that you let him know of your personal involvement in the case and he simply chose not to act on it."

"I should have insisted on being taken off the case." The last thing Sam wanted was Jack being dragged into this mess. Enough lives had been ruined over what had ultimately been a stupid mistake that had gone terribly wrong. Sam couldn't forget that people had died needlessly and she would take responsibility for her part in the events.

oOo

Sam hated funerals, but she had wanted to attend Ryan's. The internal investigation was still in full swing, but she was suspended for the moment, leaving her more time to think than she preferred.

Even the weather seemed to feel the grief and dread of those in attendance. Rain was falling in sheets from the lead grey sky, soaking the grass and turning it into a muddy mess. The air inside the church had been so heavy with dampness that she could feel sheen of water on her skin and on her clothes.

After being inside where it was hot and humid, the outside world seemed even more unforgiving. The priest's empty words were being drowned out by the rain. The few attendees braved the rain. Sam knew almost all of them. There was Chandra Kensington, and an elderly couple who Sam presumed to be Ryan's grand-parents. At first she hadn't recognized the figure that kept her distance from the ongoing funeral, hiding beneath her huge umbrella. Her stiff movements had made her curious about the woman in the first place, then, stealing a furtive glance, she had recognized Megan. When Megan noticed her looking, she quickly turned and headed towards the exit.

Sam jogged to catch up with Megan.

"Stop," she called out. "Please, stop. We need to talk," Sam called out. Megan stopped and Sam sidled up to her.

"What do you want?" Megan asked suspiciously. After what had happened at the cabin, Sam was not surprised that the trust between them had been shattered. She wasn't sure there was a way to leave the past behind them, but there were a few things she needed to say and she didn't care if Megan didn't want to listen.

"I want to talk."

"There is nothing to talk about. You probably want me to say how sorry I am for what happened, but I'm not. You got yourself into this on your own."

"I didn't come for an apology. I came as friend. I wanted to visit you at the hospital, but you were already gone."

"You could have called," Megan remarked sharply.

"Yes, I guess I could have," Sam admitted. "But I wanted to talk to you in person."

Megan nodded. "I heard you are not pressing charges. That's...very kind of you. You would have had the right."

"I didn't think it would do either of us any good. We both made mistakes in the past."

"Some of us more than others," Megan replied quietly. Without exchanging further words, the two women left the cemetery and walked into the parking lot.

"Are you all right?" Sam asked when Megan remained standing in front of her car and made no movement to unlock the doors.

"I was just thinking that I will have to sell it," Megan replied. "Well, who really needs a car in the city? It's just a convenience that you get used to."

"Why? What is happening?" Sam asked, taken aback.

"The lawsuit. Ryan's family is suing. They are seeking compensation for the mental stress caused by the unsolved disappearance of their son. They are arguing that by not reporting the murder, I put them through unnecessary pain."

"Do you have a lawyer?" Sam asked.

"No. But I know a few. Someone agree to take the case. But most of the lawyers I know specialize in criminal law and civil law." Megan shrugged sadly.

"I might know someone. No guarantees that she will take your case, but you could give her a call. Jeanne Cooper." Sam pulled out her note pad and scribbled down the lawyer's name and phone number-

"She does mostly victim's advocacy," Sam explained and handed Megan the paper.

"Victim's advocacy? I doubt she would be interested in taking my case. As far as anyone is concerned, Ryan and all the people in the bank are the real victims. Maybe even you. Clyde more or less tricked you into the whole thing, but I knew what I was doing was wrong. I'm not a victim." Megan shook her head.

"Just promise me you'll give her a call. Tell her your story and see what she says," Sam said intently.

"All right. Thank you, Sam."

oOo

Sam was trying to ignore the phone and her answering machine. Martin had already called twice and it was only lunchtime. Without work to occupy the majority of her time, Sam felt adrift and without purpose. Work and ambition had filled her live for the past ten years. She had no idea what she was going to do if her career came to an end.

If Martin was calling, it meant that he knew about everything. After what had happened in the cabin, everything had had to come out. She hadn't spoken to any of her co-workers since the day at the cabin. Jack had driven her home and while she had really appreciated his kindness, Sam didn't know what to say, even to Jack. Their relationship seemed to have become so complicated. Sam wished they could just start over again, but she knew it was an idle thought. Jack was married; he had two still relatively small daughters and a career at the FBI. She didn't figure into that picture.

A knock at the door tore Sam from her dark thoughts. For a moment she hesitated and thought about ignoring the visitor, but she knew she couldn't hide from the world forever. It wasn't her style to dwell and while looking forwards had been hard to do in the past two weeks with everything being stirred up, life did go on, she reminded herself.

Sam was surprised when she opened the door and found Jack standing there with two containers of Chinese take-out in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

"Jack. Come in." She felt insecure and uncomfortable. "I really didn't expect you."

"I hear that congratulations are in order." Jack beamed brightly at her.

"What? I thought the committee wouldn't reach a decision before the end of the week."

"I only heard it from Van Doran; the final report is still out." Jack followed her into the apartment and handed Sam the flowers.

"That's great news. What exactly did they say?" Sam asked while she put the flowers away. "Thanks for the flowers, by the way."

"I don't know everything, but it looks like you will be off with a reprimand, at least as far as the FBI internal investigation is concerned. The DA is another matter, but I think it will be all right," Jack told her. "They will probably go after Megan, but she might be able to work out a deal if she comes clean about the robbery. Rodnina and the others will be charged with murder."

"How do you know?"

"I have my sources." Jack gave a sly smile.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, remembering the questions of the committee.

"I have survived worse." Jack shrugged. "Chinese?"

"Please." Sam took one of the boxes and settled down on the couch. The hearty smell of the food reminded her how hungry she was. The past few days, she had hardly eaten at all, but now that the weight of worry was lifting from her shoulder, the knot in her stomach had disappeared.

"Jack, I really appreciate all that you have done for me, but there is something I wanted to talk to you about."

"What is it?" Jack asked, instantly worried.

"I have been thinking a lot these last few days. I realized that what I came to the Bureau for doesn't mean as much to me any more. I think it is time I got out."

"Sam, you can't just throw everything away. The investigation will be sorted out soon and you'll be back to work in no time."

They ate in silence for a few minutes until Sam paused, setting down her food on the table in front of the couch.

"Jack, I have been thinking, I do appreciate everything you have done for me these last few days, but I don't think I'll be going back to work at the Bureau," Sam said, not quite able to look him in the eye.

"Why, Sam?"

"It just isn't fun anymore." Sam gave a half-smile. "I have come to realize that the reason I came to the Bureau was never because I really wanted it; all I wanted was to escape my past. I worked so hard to turn my life around, but I was running away the entire time."

"Are you sure? You have been through a lot recently. Maybe you need a break. I'm sure I can arrange for some time off. Take a nice vacation somewhere warm and sunny," Jack said with false cheerfulness. He could tell from Sam's tone and the grave expression on her face that she had put some serious thought in what she was saying.

"No, I have thought about this and I'm sure," Sam replied with more confidence than she really felt.

"And this has nothing to do with the two of us?"

"Not everything is about you, Jack," Sam replied jokingly. "I thought there wasn't an 'us' anymore as far as you were concerned."

"I don't know. I really don't know at the moment. I never stopped having feelings for you, but, in my head, I was telling myself it was better for both of us to move on."

"Maybe it was. I seem to have bad luck with men," Sam said ruefully. "Ever since Clyde…," Sam trailed off. "I guess I always wanted to stay as independent as possible; that's why I always pick men I can't have." Sam thought back to the row of men she had dated in the last few years. She had slept with her share of married men, co-workers and even a one-night stand with an instructor at the FBI Academy. At least then she had woken up the next morning with the realization that she was about to ruin the future she had worked for so hard.

"Is that still the way you feel?" Jack asked gently.

"I don't know. I don't know what to think anymore. I do know that I don't want to lose you." Sam took Jack's hand.

"You won't, I promise. Whatever you decide to do, I'll be there." Sam wanted to believe Jack so badly, but part of her knew she would never be more than 'the other woman' in Jack's life. But when she looked up at Jack, she saw that he meant it.


End file.
